


Then, Suddenly, Life Changed

by sullacat



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:13:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullacat/pseuds/sullacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>May 2010: In honor of the one year anniversary of the movie, an AU - What if Leonard McCoy had been at the bar that night? Two men, a cycle, and a trip that changes their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Then, Suddenly, Life Changed

**Author's Note:**

> Co-written with [Salvaged Pride](http://salvaged-pride.livejournal.com/).
> 
> No infringement intended, no profit made.

_Shit, that hurt_. It was the first thought that went through Jim's mind as he leaned against the bar, mouth throbbing along with the burst of copper on his tongue. 'Cupcake' had a good right hook, and damn was he fast. So much for that Starfleet code of ethics, or whatever they were supposed to follow. Ganging up on a guy and then taking him by surprise didn't seem all that particularly Starfleet like, but then again maybe Jim just didn't know Starfleet well enough. He twisted his body back around, feeling the alcohol sliding in his veins and giving him a fool's courage. Thankfully, training went deeper than liquor and stayed as instinct.

It was a blur of motion. Twisting to sock that talking mouth, ignoring the blow that came from an opponent he couldn't fully see out of the corner of his eyes, getting a double handful of Uhura's breasts and unable to help a squeeze. Bar fights were never anything but ugly brawls of messy fists and flying bodies, and this was no better. As soon as 'Cupcake' got involved, something had told Jim that it would end like this. He never knew how to keep his mouth shut and mixed with alcohol on both sides, tempers flared fast when heated with insults.

His fingers wrapped around the coolness of glass, a weapon suddenly in his hands. He wrenched his upper body around and was secretly pleased at the sound of shattered glass against skin. That was a hit someone wouldn't soon forget. Unfortunately, 'Cupcake' had more than one friend, and someone snagged Jim good around the arms. His back hit a table with a fist at his face, and he couldn't focus straight forward enough to stop the fist from coming at him again.

Then suddenly that fist stopped. Momentum seemed to shift, and the hulking mass suddenly dropped on top of Jim, two hundred pounds of bulk. "Goddamn bully," he heard muttered low from somewhere to the right, just as a new fight broke out, two cadets jumping in the direction of that voice. Jim struggled to get the bastard off of him, hearing the body _thunk_ down on the floor and not giving a damn about how painful it sounded. Jim dizzily forced himself to sit up and looked around. 'Cupcake' was now laying on the floor and drooling, and his two of his three friends had started in on someone else. Even with some heavy alcohol in his veins and with blood dripping down his face, Jim knew he had to do something. Guy must have done something to 'Cupcake' to drop him.

So without much other thought, Jim got fully to his feet and tackled one of the two guys from behind. He got a glimpse of the guy they were attacking - handsome, older-looking guy in a sweater and looking batshit insane - before he turned to focus on the guy he had attacked. He grabbed a handful of hair and slammed the guy's face down onto the floor once, twice, and felt him stop moving. _Good_. He twisted over, looking for Batshit Insane Guy and hoping he was holding his own.

And he was - a few more punches thrown in each direction, and it looked like that match might be a draw until a shrill whistle rang through the air. Everyone in the bar froze and looked up. "Outside. All of you!" gruffed an older man in a gray Starfleet uniform. Suddenly, there was a mad rush to empty the bar as cadets finished their drinks and began making their way out the door as fast as they could.

Jim saw the older guy in the sweater, the one that had saved his ass, heading in the opposite direction toward the back door. Jim looked toward the Starfleet guy who was looking at him oddly, at Batshit man fleeing in the other direction, and decided to go with the possibly safer of the two choices. He grabbed a handful of napkins on the way as he followed out the backdoor. "Hey, wait!" he called out towards the man's back, twisting a napkin between his two fingers and jamming it up a nostril to stop the blood flow.

But the man kept moving, stumbling a little as he hit the door, pushing it open with his shoulder and heading out to the back parking lot. One hand reached out to steady himself against the exterior wall, and he briefly turned toward Jim, eying him once over before moving on. He began walking toward the road, away from the sea of red in the front lot. "Fuckin' hell..." Jim had to work a little to keep himself upright, but he nearly trotted to catch up to the guy. "Hey, _old man_ , come on! Just wanted to thank you," he growled out as he got a second napkin into the other nostril.

At this the older man stopped, crossed his arms, and turned to face Jim. Jim could see, after a moment, the older man's shoulders lifting and lowering as if he were laughing to himself. "... Don't worry 'bout it, kid. Was nothin'." In the low light of the bar signs, Jim could see that Batshit had some nice swelling starting on the left side of his face and a busted lip.

"Shit, you got it good." Jim stepped forward, eying the other man's face. He was pretty sure his own nose was broken, and he probably looked like hell. "...Least I can do is help you get it fixed up. Grab a bottle of vodka and a rag and we can get it cleaned out." He turned his head to the side and spat out blood, wiggling a loose tooth with his tongue.

"Nah," the guy muttered, with a shake of his head. "You go back o'er there with your friends, 'kay?" He began walking off, but after a few steps, he turned around once more. "You should get that checked out, your nose I mean. Looks busted."

Jim wrinkled his nose and winced, "Pretty sure it is. Huh, and what friends? Came alone tonight, Mr. Whistle chased off everyone off, and the bar's closing." He walked right up to Batshit. Looked younger, up close, but those eyes were less fierce looking and more... tired. "You need a ride somewhere?" He wasn't... too terribly drunk. He could manage to get Batshit home.

Then a pair of hands was on his face, lifting his chin carefully. It took everything in Jim not to grab those hands and drag them off him, but he remained still as a pair of dark eyes looked into his, peering inside him. "No concussion, prob'ly." The older man sighed heavily, as if the weight of the world sat on his shoulders. "...'m staying down the road at a hotel. Can walk, kiddo, no worries." Suddenly an eyebrow arched over a swollen eye. "You ain't drivin' anywhere, are you?"

Surprised, Jim actually just answered truthfully, "...Yea. Can't stay 'round here." Batshit had a heavy accent, thick as moonshine and as potent. "...Not like anyone's on the roads around here." From this close up, Jim got a better look at his drunken southern savior. There was at least a few days of stubble on the man's face, his hair was greasy, and he needed to sleep about a week from the look of it. _Not that I look much better right now_. He could taste blood every time he breathed in.

A worried look crossed the older guy's face, as if he could read Jim's mind. "Look," Batshit man began, blinking a few times, rubbing a hand across his mouth. "We get back to my hotel room, I can fix your nose up. Shouldn't leave it too long like that, if you plannin' on traveling."

Jim felt his brows rising up. "...You a doctor or something?" Guy didn't even get pissed he planned to drive drunk.

A gentle snort. "Yeah, or somethin' like that." The doctor, or something, began walking down the road, heading in the direction of town. "You comin'?" Jim wasn't even sure what to make of that. Well, hell, it was a free place maybe to even spend the night. He looked back at the bar, decided his cycle could live the night in the parking lot, and followed the stranger down the road.

He did, though, offer the cleaner of his two hands, "Jim Kirk."

The other man took it. "Leonard McCoy," he replied quietly. They walked quietly for a few minutes, the lights of the bar dimming and the road dark ahead of them. "You get into a lotta bar fights, kid?" McCoy asked, kicking at a rock under his boot.

"Enough of 'em. Enough to know as soon as that guy got pissed I was gonna be in one." Jim stumbled, just a bit, but kept himself upright. He was sweating in the heavy heat of the late Iowa summer, and felt sticky, hot, and disgusting thanks to the blood on him. "You took him down quick. You trained in fighting?" Seemed weird, if the guy was a doctor.

"Hmpf," McCoy snorted again, pulling a small device out of his pocket. "Never go out empty-handed anymore," he replied, twirling it around a finger before showing Jim. "Just shot your friend up with 50 ccs of Sonambutril. Figure that'd keep him down for an hour or so." He pulled his sweater up and over his head, and ran a hand through his hair. "Shit, didn't feel like it took this long earlier tonight."

A very slow, huge grin spread out across Jim's face as he stared at McCoy. A hypo - the man carried a god damn fucking hypo like a cowboy carried his gun. He definitely could get to like this guy. "Yea well, you weren't drunk then. And hadn't gotten punched in the face yet." Jim shrugged, grinning despite the fact it hurt like shit. "Nice going, though."

"Well, nothin' pisses me off more than an unfair fight." McCoy coughed, then spit into the ground. "Fuckin' cowards, calling their friends to jump on one guy. Won't stand for that..." The doctor just mumbled to himself as they walked.

There was more traffic now as they approached Riverside proper, and McCoy headed toward a cheap motel on the edge of town. Fishing in his pockets for a keycard, he growled and cussed loud, until he found it tucked away in his boot. "Dammit," McCoy sighed as he opened the door and let Jim inside. "Well, here we are."

Better than a lot of the places he had stayed over the years, Jim decided easily enough. He just walked straight across into the bathroom, grabbed what looked like a clean towel, and started to run water over it. He wanted to get some of the blood off himself so the doc could look at his nose. He tugged the napkins out before he came back out into the room, blotting his face, "You probably saved my ass, or at least my face, so thanks," spoken through the muffle of the towel.

"You were doin' okay there," McCoy chuckled, sounding a little impressed despite himself. He walked across the small room and sat down heavily at the table near the back wall, pushing off a small travel bag onto the floor and pulling another bag into his lap, shuffling around inside it. "I just evened the odds a little." Jim saw him pull out a bottle of dark liquid, tug two square glasses from the neat setup left by the hotel, and pour two generous glasses, holding one out to Jim.

"You know, until I was flat on my back," Jim said sarcastically as he took the glass, sniffing at it. Some sort of cheap bourbon; if the look on the guy's face was anything to go by, he'd been living out of this bottle. Still, Jim swallowed some of it with appreciation of that, feeling the burn. The burn went up his nose and he winced, face twisting up. "Shit, strong stuff," Jim said as he glanced into the bag McCoy had pulled the bottle from. Little vials, some medical devices, bandages, a scanner. Huh, so the guy really was a doctor, or thought he was one. Long as his nose was gonna get fixed up, Jim didn't care one way or the other.

McCoy chuckled to himself, taking a long drink from his glass, exhaling loud when he slid down this throat. "Yeah," he agreed, not saying much more as he put his head back, closing his eyes. A few moments passed and all of a sudden he opened his eyes and stared at Jim, as if he'd forgotten there was someone else in the room with him. "Oh yeah," McCoy shook his head, reaching down for his medical bag. "Here, c'mere and let me look at that nose." Digging out a small vial of colored liquid, McCoy popped it into his hypospray and began fiddling with the dial.

"...What is that?" Jim was cautious about the hypo, sheerly because the last thing he needed tonight was a reaction to something, "I don't do well with drugs." He didn't step closer, not yet. He was fine with fixing, but drugs were different. _Should have checked the glass before I drank this_. Fuck, the idea of getting raped or something because he was an idiot tonight...

"Hydrocortilene," McCoy told him, showing Jim the hypo before injecting it into his own neck without so much as a blink. "Keep the headache away in the morning. Want some?" he asked, offering it to Jim.

Shit, seriously? Guy had to be a doctor to get that - too expensive for someone like him. "Fuck yea." He took the hypo, made sure it was facing the right way, and dosed himself. "...Have bad reactions to a lot of drugs, gotta be cautious about what someone wants to jack me up with."

"Really?" McCoy asked, looking back at Jim as he stood, slowly walking toward the bathroom. He returned to the table with freshly washed hands, pulling his chair right in front of Jim. McCoy leaned over, turned on the old-fashioned lamp, and pulled the light toward Jim for a better look. "Okay, lemme look at this," he murmured. McCoy stank of booze and smoke, but his hands were cool and gentle as he carefully tilted Jim's face, the better to see the fractured nose.

"Nearly died a few times in my life from doctors just getting me and not asking first," Jim muttered, trying not to move his mouth too much while McCoy looked. The scent was a familiar one, easy to ignore. The touch on his face was less so, and he forced himself to stay relaxed with it.

"Most medications nowadays have few reactions 'nless your body chemistry just don't tolerate 'em at all," McCoy said matter-of-factly, but quietly as he reached into his bag and pulled out a regen unit. "This might hurt a bit," he said, pressing the device against the bridge of Jim's nose. As promised, it hurt. Jim grunted as he felt McCoy turn on the unit, and a gentle whirr let him know that it was working. "Okay, what else is wrong?" he asked, one thumb running across Jim's forehead, examining a small laceration and frowning.

That hurt. "It's definitely just me," Jim muttered, trying not to wrinkle his nose. "Don't think anything else major. Just some bruising." He patted his ribs where he was feeling a good sized bruise already starting.

"Hmmm..." Taking another sip from the glass, McCoy leaned down and Jim heard him poking around in his bag. A tricorder came into view at the corner of his eye, and McCoy sealed a few small cuts and scrapes on Jim's face. "Think anything's broken?" he asked, pointing at Jim's side.

"Probably bruised, not broken." He'd had enough in his life to know. Just sore, no stabbing pain. Man, having your bar-fight buddy be a doctor was useful.

"Can't help much with that, then," McCoy snorted, finishing his glass and dropping it on the table. He walked over to the bed and sat down on it, pulling off his boots. "You need a place to crash, kid?" he asked. "Don't got much, but you're welcome to half." Something about that statement seemed to amuse him, because the doctor started laughing to himself, scratching the back of his head.

 _How drunk is this doc?_ Jim wondered to himself, but kept on his easy smile, "Grateful. Better than spending it outside somewhere sleeping this off. You want the shower first? Dunno about you, but reeking like beer and blood all night's not something I want to do." Okay, so maybe it was a not so subtle hint to McCoy that he needed a shower bad.

It was a hint that McCoy wasn't taking. "I'm okay," he muttered sleepily, pulling off his t-shirt and laying back on the bed, eyes closed and bare-chested. "You go 'head, if you want." He didn't seem to worry about Jim hurting him, or robbing him. He didn't seem to be worried about much, other than getting some rest.

Jim stared at McCoy, licked his lips once before he shrugged it off. Good looking guy, this McCoy. He'd take care of him for ... taking care of _him_. Jim walked into the bathroom and took a fast shower, taking the time to make sure all the blood was gone and even washing his clothes before he came back out. As Jim hung up his clothing to dry overnight, he was grateful for McCoy already being asleep; it was less awkward this way. He did his best to climb onto the other side of the bed as lightly as possible, but McCoy was dead to the world and remained that way until the morning.

* * *

  


  


 

It was well past down when movement woke Jim up instantly. Lifting his head, Jim cautiously took in his surroundings, including the man next to him who was stretching and yawning, before he relaxed again. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he brought up last night's memories. In bed with the hot, older doctor. His face felt puffy but not painful. No headache. Not bad. He'd woken up in worse situations. _Time to pay the piper._

Jim twisted around in the bed and slid his fingers down the side of the man's chest. "...Gotta thank ya, doc," but his fingers were suddenly stopped by McCoy's hand, covering Jim's, keeping them from traveling down much further.

"Don't worry 'bout it," McCoy murmured, shaking his head, a little exasperated. "Don't-don't need to do that." McCoy shifted away a little, scooting further off the bed, though his hand was still covering Jim's fingers.

Careful, like talking to a spooked dog, Jim tried again. If McCoy pulled away again he'd let it go. "Don't need to, want to. Saved my nose, probably a lot more of me." He used the edge of his thumb to caress the web of McCoy's hand. "If you're not into guys, I'll make it quick. Can just close your eyes."

McCoy's hand wrapped around Jim's thumb and squeezed. He turned his body to face Jim, a questioning look on his face. McCoy was breathing hard, and for a moment it looked as if he was gonna reach out toward Jim... but he let go, swallowing hard. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it with a sigh. "I'll be back in a bit," he finally muttered, standing and heading into the bathroom, and soon the room was filled with the sound of the shower running.

Well, that went worse than expected. Jim shrugged and grabbed his clothing, sighing. Still stained, but at least the rumpled tee shirt and jeans weren't completely disgusting after last night's fight. A few shakes got the worst of the wrinkles out. He dragged the clothing on, wondering if he could spare the credits to grab a new shirt at a second-hand shop he knew was here in town. The idea of leaving before the doctor came out of the shower passed through Jim's head, but hell. Least he could do was buy the man breakfast. Jim wanted to sit down and look over the map, figure out where he was going next.

It wasn't long before the water stopped running, and McCoy left the bathroom. Towel wrapped around his waist, he walked toward his travel bag, grabbed some underwear and a pair of jeans, and headed back into the bathroom. When he emerged a minute later, McCoy was half-dressed, a comb run through his wet hair. Looking a little uncomfortable, McCoy pulled a t-shirt out of his bag and put it on, then grabbed his sweater from the closet. "How's your ribs this morning?" he asked, looking over at Jim with tired eyes.

"They exist," Jim got out, easily pretending like he hadn't been staring. Toned, with just the slightest hint of a paunch. He wondered if the doctor worked out at all. "Good looking bruise about the size of my hand." The offer he made next was easy. "You want some breakfast? After that, if you need a ride somewhere I can give you one. What's a doctor like you doing out in bumfuckville anyway?" Though the drinking problem, if the bottle, scent, and their meeting location indicated right, might explain why he was out here where no one would care.

McCoy stared back at Jim a moment, looking a hundred percent more wary than he had last night, as if all of a sudden he wasn't sure what he was doing in a hotel room with some strange guy. "Breakfast sounds good," he answered slow, digging his socks out of the bag. Once he was completely dressed, he walked back into the bathroom, came out with a small shaving kit, and tossed it into his bag along with everything else that belonged to him in the room. "Not sure 'bout the ride," he said with a guarded smile. "But thanks."

Breakfast, and they'd go their separate ways. All in all, a good meeting in Jim's world. He gave that charming smile of his and nodded, "You up for a walk back to the bar, or you want to wait here until I get back?"

McCoy secured the straps on his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. "Walk. Let's go."

Soon they were back on the road, the bright Iowa sun climbing in the sky as they made their way back to the bar. "You from around here?" McCoy asked as they approached the parking lot.

"...was, originally. Wouldn't call it home or anything." Jim shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "You're definitely not, not with that accent." He tried to turn it into something easy, a tease, without forcing McCoy to say anything more than he wanted to.

"Nope," McCoy grinned a little, though he looked a little pained. "From down south, Atlanta, Georgia. Just passing through here." His eyebrow arched as they approached the only vehicle left in the parking lot. "This your cycle?"

"Beauty, isn't she?" His fingers caressed the edge of the cycle before Jim slipped onto the leather seat. "I fixed her up myself." He jerked his head, a quick indication that McCoy could get on behind him. "Ever ridden one before?"

"It's been a while," McCoy told him with a look that said he wasn't excited about the idea of riding on the back, but it didn't stop him from getting on, tucking his bag behind him. Jim forced down a smirk and turned the cycle on, the familiar thrum of the saddle between his thighs and the unfamiliar feeling of a body against his back. He did a circle once around the parking lot, letting McCoy get a feel for it, before he sped out onto paved road.

The trip back into town was too short, but soon enough he'd be back on endless roads heading somewhere vaguely west. Jim parked the cycle out in front of the town's small diner, mentally trying to calculate how many credits he still had on him.

McCoy slid off the back and headed inside after Jim. They found a booth in the corner, and McCoy grabbed a menu, ordered coffee, and didn't say much more until the coffee was delivered and he was almost done the cup. "So, whatcha do for a living, Jim?" Apparently, with coffee came polite conversation. Seemed the good doctor was one of those types that didn't live until he had his morning cup of coffee. Jim liked a good cup of coffee but didn't require it to exist, and witnessing the need in other people always made him grateful for the fact.

"Whatever comes to hand," Jim said in an intentional, subtle double-entendre. "I'm a fair hand at almost anything. Mostly, I like to travel." His fingers were wrapped around his own cup, enjoying the warmth of it between his palms more than the taste or caffeine. "It's a long way from Atlanta, this tiny town. Said you were just passing through, so where are you headed?"

"California," McCoy said a moment later. "Was, anyway. Now?" He snorted into his mug. "Not sure what my plans are right now." He glanced down at the bag at his side, looking like it carried his entire life, and frowned.

"Was?" Jim felt his brows come together as he leaned on the table between them, "...What made you change your mind?"

McCoy shrugged and opened his mouth, hesitating. He looked over at Jim, as if he were really looking at him for the first time, like he was a real person. It was a long, measured look. "Missed my ride this morning," he finally admitted, finishing his coffee and signaling to the waitress that he wanted some more.

Wince. "Shit, because of me?" Jim asked uncertainly. If he had managed to fuck this guy's travel plans over...

McCoy looked surprised. "No, not you. I mean, fuck, I didn't wanna go. Let myself sleep in." A sheepish grin. "You just gave me the excuse I needed, so, um, thanks." The waitress came by again and filled their mugs, and McCoy ordered some toast, plain.

Jim ordered a breakfast, a real one. He needed something to eat up the rest of the minimal hangover. He was seriously curious now, though. "So what was in California that I managed to excuse you out of?"

Another hesitation. "Starfleet," McCoy said ruefully, looking out the window. "Was supposed to catch a shuttle this morning." McCoy didn't look to upset about it.

Then again, McCoy didn't look like he cared much about anything.

That actually took Jim by surprise. This just didn't seem like the sort of guy that either Starfleet would want, or that would want to join it. He had spent most of his life avoiding it, until it had decided to punch him in the face in a bar. "Huh," Jim started, but didn't know how to finish. He leaned on his elbow, looking out the window. That must have been what the older guy in the bar last night in the black uniform was even doing here. Something to do with the shipyard, most likely. Maybe to pick up this doctor... no, not that. McCoy would have been staying somewhere better, and Jim doubted Mr. Whistle would have let McCoy miss the shuttle. "Wouldn't be hard to get to California."

"Probably not," McCoy admitted. "Just... not sure if it's really for me." When Jim gave a questioning look, McCoy clarified, "Space, being out there in the dark." He shook his head, his face clouding over with shadows that came from somewhere inside. "A thousand things could go wrong out there, and not a damn soul to help you. Don't like that."

Jim hesitated. What was McCoy bringing along with him that made the doctor's whole expression darken over like that? _Like I have no idea what that's like_ , Jim thought to himself, carrying around shadows. He tapped his finger on the table, before he replied cautiously, "Isn't that... what your crew is supposed to be about? To help you if things go wrong?" _Why was McCoy even going out there if he feels like this?_

"I suppose," McCoy nodded, watching as the waitress brought them their food. "Don't know much about it, was just getting ready to go in." He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of toast. "Still might, just haven't quite made up my mind yet." McCoy looked up, as if realizing he'd been talking a lot about himself. "What 'bout you?" he asked. "You said you were traveling?"

"...That's what I do." Jim grinned, but kept in mind what McCoy had said. "Travel, find odd jobs here and there... guess you could call me a professional vagabond."

Didn't take long for McCoy to finish his toast. "That workin' out for you?" he asked, a little wistful grin on his face as if the idea seemed intriguing, even momentarily.

It was an odd question that made Jim laugh, leaning forward. "Love it, even if it's a tough life sometime. How's being a doctor working out for ya?" he teased right back, grinning.

McCoy leaned back, as if he had to consider that question. "My first instinct is to say that it's gotten me everything I ever wanted, but if that was true, then why the hell would I be here?" he replied, a sarcastic note to the last few words. "It's a good living. Highly recommend it, though in general people are idiots and don't listen to their physicians... which in the end only means they need us more after they've fucked up their health." It was as many words as he'd said since they met, and when he finished, McCoy finished his coffee. "Guess I'll be off then," he said, wiping his mouth on a napkin and reaching for his wallet.

Jim waved that off. "I'm covering it. Consider it me paying my doctor's life-saving bill." He gestured with his head for the waitress to come over, paying her with a credit tab before McCoy could complain. Then he looked back to the doctor. "Must be nice, though. An occupation you can help people, even if people are morons."

"When you can help them, yeah," McCoy answered. "Thanks for the coffee, kid. You take care of that nose, okay?" Standing, he pulled the bag over his shoulder and waited for Jim.

Grabbing the last triangle of toast from his plate, Jim stood up and followed McCoy outside with it still hanging out of his mouth. He tore a piece off, hesitating, "...Look, McCoy... you want a ride to the next real town? There's nothing out here." It wasn't a completely unknown offer for him to make, just a rare one. He usually liked the peace of the road, but there was something about McCoy he liked. At least, he knew, he owed the man a real favor. That quick hypo in the bar had saved his face from being beaten in by a pissed off cadet.

McCoy looked like he was considering the offer. "Which direction you heading?"

"West." Complete with a vague hand wave that could have been any direction. Seemed as good as any, considering they were in the middle of the country.

McCoy looked in that direction, as if trying to imagine where they might be. "Drop me off in the next big town?" he asked carefully.

"Yea, whatever we find next." Jim walked over to his cycle and gave it an affectionate caress. There was a thin saddle bag with some non-perishables, a few travel items, but little else. He thought if he really needed to replenish anything in it. McCoy slid on the bike, holding onto the side with one hand, and looked back at Jim expectantly. Jim's lips quirked. Well, evidently, that was that. He slid onto the cycle in front of McCoy, settling himself into the feeling of someone against his back. He hit the engine, turned out of the lot, and chose the first road he knew would send them out of town.

Riverside, Iowa was just another place on the map; nothing had ever happened here that mattered or would it ever.

Neither of them said much else until they were well on their way. It was a quiet, back road Jim chose instead of the main highway. This road went west, almost dead straight as an arrow through farmlands. Jim felt McCoy shift against his body, almost intimate with the design of the bike. "You been this way before?" McCoy asked, leaning close to talk directly into Jim's ear.

Jim nodded, voice pitched to carry past the wind. "Sure have." Not exactly this way, but close enough. He had crossed the country enough times on his bike to know most of the major roads and in a lot of cases, how to avoid them entirely. This was the kind of road he was looking for - empty or mostly empty. He still had a twitch of memory for the past though, and despite the technology to avoid them outright, kept an eye out for the cop that had caught him all those years ago. Once they were a little farther from town, he'd let the engine hum and stop caring about his speed.

McCoy must have been lost in his own thoughts, because after a while Jim could feel him relaxing behind him, one arm holding on loosely to his waist. It was going to be a hot day of late summer, and the crops were high in the fields, gold and green and blue sky above them. It was a comfortable ride, surprisingly enough, and before either man noticed, they'd been on the road for three hours without a town in sight. "Where are we?" McCoy finally asked, as they pulled off on the side of the road to take a piss.

Jim just shrugged, sliding the kick stand on the cycle and getting off. He stretched the length of his body out, feeling muscles move against each other. "Somewhere in Nebraska. I don't worry about it until I hit a town," Shouldn't have been a surprise, really, that McCoy was asking. The doctor was there with a stranger, out in the middle of absolutely no where, not used to a traveling life style.

McCoy pulled out his communication device, tapped at it a few times. "We aren't anywhere near any big towns," he chuckled as he headed back to the cycle. "Lincoln's that way," he added, pointing southeast, opposite of where they were heading. "Shit. Didn't mean to make you cart me across the countryside." Strangely, he didn't look too put out by this turn of events. In fact, he looked sort of peaceful, the lines in his forehead disappearing as he took in the wide expanse of land around them.

Like maybe, just maybe, the doctor was actually enjoying himself. "Doesn't matter to me. Figured the next big city heading west is Denver... easy enough place to get to." Jim was in no hurry, just walking around slowly to get out the kinks in his muscles. "We can keep going for another few hours and stop for the night, see if we can find a town along the way. Got some stuff if we can't." A thin pair of blankets, a tarp, a pot that could be manipulated flat... all stuff that was cheap, light, and could fit on his bike.

McCoy nodded slowly. It looked like he hadn't planned on spending quite this much time out here, but he seemed to be rolling with it. "Denver... sounds as good a place as any to start over," he muttered, mostly to himself. Looking back up at Jim, he sighed. "Ready whenever you are, kid."

"Start over?" Jim couldn't find it in himself to tell McCoy to stop calling him 'kid', so he just climbed back on. "...Starting over from what?" Guy seemed like he was down on his luck, but at least out here he seemed almost... free. Maybe going into a big city wasn't good for the good doctor, but what did he know about someone else's life?

McCoy's face froze into something that looked almost dangerous. "... just starting over," he grumbled, turning his head toward the fields around them. "Let's get going." Neither man said anything else for a long time, the sun rising almost overhead, beating down on them, then moving in front, shining down right in their faces. It was blinding and frustrating, leaving Jim grumbling about his favorite pair of sunglasses he had swiped a few years back but had been broken recently due to someone's ass crushing them. He was entertaining finding another cheap pair in whatever town they came up to next when something white suddenly caught his eyes through the light.

It took some fast braking and jerking his cycle hard to the side to avoid hitting -- "...A _sheep_?!"

As far as he could see on either side of the road, spread out across two vast fields of summer green grass, was one massive herd of sheep. They were just plodding along, their baaing and the sounds of bells around their necks mixing together until it just sounded like noise to Jim's ears. The sheep were all pressed together, huddling as they walked across the road and into the next field.

As Jim looked over his shoulder, the look he saw on McCoy's face was indescribable. "Well, that's something you don't see in Georgia," the doctor mused.

Jim groaned aloud, rubbing a hand over his face. When he dropped his hand and saw one of the fluffy white things staring up at him, chewing on something slowly, he showed his teeth at it and kicked a foot in its direction.

"You can't be fucking serious. Sheep." Jim slumped forward on the cycle, looking out in the direction the sheep were coming from. "There must be _thousands_ of them.

"Can we drive around them?" McCoy asked, sitting up and peering around. It looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh.

Jim gave an annoyed gesture to either side of them. "Where?! It's a giant ass field! I'm glad you find this funny." He meet McCoy's eyes again, then just laughed. It was sort of funny. "Fucking sheep."

"Yeah, they're not my type, Jim, but you go right ahead." McCoy rested a hand on Jim's shoulder as Jim's laugh sputtered. "Want me to try and make you a path, if we can't drive through them?"

"Come on, we need to get off. And I don't mean on the sheep," Jim snickered through his words, grinning widely. He got off the cycle, shoving away another curious sheep. McCoy was doing his best to shoo the animals out of the way, but it was slow going.

"Don't guess this happens to you often?" he asked, holding onto one side of the cycle and helping Jim make their way into the herd.

"Oh sure it does, but only when I'm offering a discount for the night."

McCoy seemed amused by that, but didn't comment on it as pushing the cycle through the sheep ended up being harder than either man imagined. At one point McCoy ended up on the ground, trying not to be trampled by a sudden shift in sheep movement. "Fucking shit," he called out, holding a hand out as Jim helped him back up.

"You're lucky you didn't land in fucking shit with this many sheep around," Jim teased as he grabbed McCoy's hand and hauled him back up with a laugh.

McCoy gruffed a little longer, but eventually he cracked a smile about it all. "Fucking sheep," he chuckled every few minutes.

It was another twenty minutes before they were clear of the animals and back on their way.

 

It was a comfortable ride over the long hours, putting miles and miles behind them with easy, meaningless conversation or silence as they admired the landscape and concentrated on their own endless thoughts. Eventually, as night settled on the horizon, Jim knew they weren't going to make it to a town for the night. His body was sore, he was getting hungry, and just a little tired. He could _feel_ McCoy tense up when he pulled off the road into what he considered a perfect location for a night - it was right at the edge of a large field of crops where a few trees were growing. They could camp back in the trees, and see what was in the field to see if they could have some fresh food tonight. "This- we gonna sleep here?" he heard the doctor ask.

"Sure are. It's a beautiful night for it." Jim stopped the cycle just behind a tree, and started to pull out his supplies from a saddle bag. The tarp started to go up easy with the help of some bungee cord, keep the dew off them come morning at least.

McCoy hesitated at first, enough that Jim was about ready to say that there wasn't any other option but camping. Then his face changed, nodded, and he pulled the blankets out from the saddle back and tossed on the ground under the tarp. "Um, you got any ideas about dinner?" McCoy asked, a little worry in his voice and looking more like he thought this was a bad idea.

Jim just gave him a look, "Doc, relax. I've been doing this for years now." He gestured with his head to follow, and went tromping out into the field to have a look. Luck was with them. "Look at that," he whispered, grinning as he knelt down. He recognized the plant easily, and considering the time of year they had to be ready to dig up, or close to it. Too much growing up around crops when he was little, but he was grateful for the knowledge in moments like these. He pulled out a multi-use knife from his belt, and with a flick of his wrist and the edge of his thumbnail had out the dullest blade he had on the tool. He started to dig into the soil.

McCoy was behind him, looking down over his shoulder. "What's that?" he asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice.

Jim tugged once, cut once, and held up his dirty but prized find. "Sweet potato. Cut this up and cook it and we'll be sitting pretty for a meal."

A deep chuckle came out of McCoy, who sat down on the ground next to Jim, helping him pull at the dirt. "Don't suppose you can find us a marshmallow and brown sugar plant out here, can ya?" The little smile on his face wasn't something that he showed often, but the joke made Jim chuckle. "Anything else I can do to help?"

Together, they pulled up another two potatoes. Jim thought about it, then stood up and stretched, "Can you peel the three of these while I try to find us some water?"

"Yeah," McCoy nodded, picking up the potatoes and heading back to their rough camp. When Jim got back with the water he found the doctor cross-legged on the ground, carefully peeling the last of the potatoes. There was a sharp scalpel in his hands, a neat pile of peelings on the ground. It took everything in Jim not to laugh at the sight. "This good?" McCoy asked, holding them up for inspection.

Jim took a look at the potato and nodded, "Perfect." He put down the pot, now filled with water and started to scrub the potatoes clean with his hands. "There's a little creek not that far back. Gonna clean these, dump the water, and refill it so we can boil these up." It would be enough for him for a meal, but McCoy he was pretty sure was used to a better fare. He looked over to the doctor cautiously, "I might have something we can use if you need more to eat..."

But the doctor shook his head. "Looks great," he said with another slow grin, then his face changed. "Hey wait," he called out, looking up as he stood and walked toward his travel bag. He returned a moment later, offering Jim a small plastic package. "Got some jerky, bought it yesterday while I was waiting at the station." The bag was half-filled with dried meat, not a lot, but enough for them both to have a few strips.

Jim's eyes lit up with that. How long had it been since he had been able to have some real jerky? He grinned, "You sure?" It was a treat for him. When McCoy nodded, Jim took out a strip and happily started to gnaw on it. The strong taste of the marinade made him start to salivate hard. He chewed on it while he finished up, and went to dump the water before he paused. "Here, if you want to give your hands a quick wash. Know the road gets dusty." He had done a fast wash-up in the creek but at least McCoy could clean up for eating. He watched McCoy do just that, and wondered if he was imagining the faintly thankful look on McCoy's face at being able to do something as simple as wash his hands and face.

When McCoy was done, Jim left McCoy his knife, longer than the scalpel and it would be easier to cut with, and asked the doctor to chop up the potatoes into thick cubes - it'd cook faster cubed. Jim dumped the dirty water away from their camp, and refilled the pot. When he came back he started to get everything ready for a fire. It was a comfortable sort of silence between them, one unable to be filled with too much talk because they were still strangers, but on a trip that meant spending a lot of time together.

At least McCoy looked familiar with building a fire. Soon the water was boiling and the potatoes were cooking. "You do this a lot?" he asked, stirring the pot and looking back up at Jim. "Camp out like this?"

"Most nights, during the spring, summer, and fall," Jim admitted easily. "It's free or mostly free, so it saves credits for where I need it." Like food, and sometimes clothing and other essentials.

McCoy gave him that look, familiar, the one that said _'Why? Where is your family? Why not settle down and get a job?'_ But he didn't ask, his face turned inward and focused instead on the pot in front of him. Jim wondered if it was because McCoy didn't want to have to answer those questions himself. "Thanks for letting me tag along," McCoy finally said, his voice a little rough.

Jim hated that look. "More than welcome," he chose to say, honestly. "It's nice to have someone to travel with, for a little while." It took a while for the potatoes to cook, so he chewed on some more of the jerky. A least a strip or two got palmed into his pocket so it could be saved for tomorrow.

McCoy had a strip of jerky dangling from his mouth as he cleaned his scalpel and fixed it back into his medical kit. "Don't guess I gotta tell you that some plants and vegetables out here might be dangerous, if you do this as often as you say." McCoy narrowed his eyes as he spoke, looking around at the woods as the summer sun began to go down in the west, throwing long shadows on the ground. "You wouldn't believe the sorts of bugs you can pick up out here, poisonous plants that will fuck up your immune system, internal bleeding, shut down all your organs..." He shook his head, as if suddenly suspicious of the entire outdoors.

Jim just gave McCoy a long look. "And that's why we don't eat those," like he was talking to a three year old. "We eat things that won't make us sick. Like sweet potatoes." He pointed at the pot.

"Hmpf," McCoy replied. "Just saying, can't be too careful." He spoke as if he were repeating something by rote, but wasn't really concerned about it at the moment. Standing and stretching, the doctor walked over to his bag and returned to camp with his bottle of bourbon, taking a sip and setting it on the ground within Jim's reach.

"...I was born in Riverside." Jim said, gesturing, "Were you born in Atlanta?"

"I was," McCoy answered slow. "Lived there most of my life, but..." some hesitation in his voice, "got divorced a few months ago. Thought it was time to try something new. Someplace new." He reached for the bottle again, took another sip, and then screwed the lid back on with a sigh. "So," he looked back up at Jim, "if you don't live there anymore, what were you doing there last night?"

"First time I was back since I was eleven," Jim said as he looked back to McCoy across the fire. He nudged a potato with the tip of his knife; it still had to cook some more. "Just decided on a whim to go there, see what's changed. Absolutely nothing, I can report."

"Yeah, didn't look like much going on there 'cept the shipyard." McCoy was watching Jim poke at the potato, a pretty good indicator of how hungry he was getting. "Walked around town once I got there yesterday, but didn't see much, so just headed to that bar and had a drink or two." Or six. "So, Denver," he said thoughtfully, rolling the word around his tongue. "How long 'til those are done?"

"Not much longer now. Just waiting until they're not rock hard anymore." Jim leaned back on an elbow, watching McCoy in the low light as the sun was heading towards setting. "Haven't been to Denver, but cities are all alike." Now that he thought about it, he didn't have an extra plate or anything. He was used to being on his own, so thought never went into having seconds of some things - like plates. "You might want to dig out that scalpel again," Jim admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't carry plates, or extra utensils or anything like that. Comes with the territory, I guess."

"Guess so," McCoy agreed, then reached over for his medical kit again. He pulled out the scalpel, laughing at it, and found some lid to something that could serve as a plate. "I'm good over here." Glancing over at Jim, McCoy had a look on his face as if remembering the night before. "How's your nose? Breathing alright?"

Jim nodded, "Not even a lick of trouble. Just sort of a weird achey feeling down in my face." He tapped his fingertip where it hurt, just around his sinuses. He took the lid from McCoy and speared a piece of the sweet potato. He cut down into it, then again, and speared the now smaller piece. He blew across it to cool it, then popped it into his mouth. He chewed on it thoughtfully, then nodded. "Done enough that I don't care," he declared, and stood up. He gestured for McCoy to do the same.

"Here, hold this over the top of the pot so the water can get out but not the potatoes." He couldn't do it with only two hands when the pot was boiling hot. They walked a few feet away from their campsite and did just that, with a little bit of poor coordination but enough to not lose any of the sweet potato chunks inside. Jim sat back down and nudged a little more than half onto the makeshift plate, then gave it to McCoy. "Enjoy some real Iowa cooking. Or.. something like that."

McCoy raised an eyebrow at the portion size, but didn't say anything, but giving Jim a knowing look. Didn't look like much got past him, despite his appearance of not paying much attention to (or not caring about) what was going around him. They ate in more silence, finishing their sweet potatoes just as the sun dipped under the horizon. "You cooked, so I'll clean up," McCoy stood, picking up the pot. "I'll go wash this and your plate," he said, holding out his hands for Jim's things. "We need more water for tonight?"

Easy enough to agree with, so Jim gave his plate up to McCoy's hands. "Shouldn't need any more, least I don't. Just plan to get some sleep and head out sometime after sunrise. We'll get to Denver sometime mid-late afternoon tomorrow, I think." McCoy nodded and left, returning a little later. It was pretty dark now, a clear night and despite the trees around them, there was a good view of some stars just starting to peek out from where they lay. McCoy headed over to his blanket, pulling off his sweater and rolling it up under his head like a pillow. The bottle stayed close to him, and every few minutes he took a drink out of it.

Jim let the silence go by, listening to the crackle of the fire and ignoring the heat that the night leeched nothing from. He cradled his head in his hands, feeling all was right with the world. He only broke the silence after he glanced over to the fire and saw it was getting low. "We should get more wood, if we want that fire to last 'til morning." Nothing to do with heat and everything to do with having light and a bit of protection from any animals that might be wandering through.

McCoy didn't move for a moment, then turned toward Jim's voice. "Right," he said, sitting up and shaking his head a bit. "I can get some," he started, and began heading toward the woods, eyes fixed on the ground. Jim wasn't about to let McCoy wander off alone, so he hauled his bones up and walked after him, grabbing anything along the way that would world.

"You ever camped on your own before?" Jim asked out of polite conversation, but also a little curious about the man he was hauling to Denver.

McCoy laughed at that. "When I was a kid, you know, with my family. Granddad had some land, used to go out there when I was a kid, sleep outside sometimes in the summer." He collected some small pieces of wood, kicked over a fallen log, and pulled at the branches sticking up from it. "Nothing in a long time, though. It's kinda fun, all rustic and shit, being outside like this." He looked up at Jim, as if trying to understand something, as if... as if he wanted to know more, but didn't want to ask.

The laugh made Jim smile. It was a good laugh, rich in a way. "Must have been nice," Jim said thoughtfully. "Been doing this off and on for probably," he had to think about it, "about seven or so years now. I always get antsy and want to get back on the road again. Besides, I've had some great adventures out here. One time... two, three years ago now, I was farther north up into North Dakota. I was dead asleep," he stopped to tug up a branch, "and I get woken up by this noise. Not five feet away from me is this huge bear. Just about shit myself, I can tell you that. I ended up getting up in a single bound and onto my cycle and started it. Scared the hell out of the bear, and there I am trying to figure out if I'm dreaming or not." He laughed at the memory of it. He had been terrified at the time, but looking back on it was always funny.

McCoy's face was twisted in something that looked like disbelief and amusement. "A bear?" he chuckled loud. "I don't know what I'd do if I saw one of those." But there was something else on his face... "Jim, how old are you?" he asked, forehead furrowing.

"I'd like to never see one again, they're huge," Jim agreed, laughing a little. "I'm twenty-two." He answered without really thinking about it, "How 'bout yourself?"

"Twenty-eight in a couple days." McCoy tossed the wood onto the ground near the fire before sitting down.

Jim wanted to make mention that McCoy looked about ten years older than that, but decided that probably wouldn't be the best thing to say. Instead, he started to bank the fire so it would last until morning. So twenty-eight, a doctor, recently divorced, trying to restart his life. McCoy seemed to care very little about missing the shuttle over to Starfleet. Maybe Starfleet had just been a spur of the moment choice for McCoy, something to focus on. Divorce must have been very recent. "So, why Starfleet?" Since Jim could never just drop a topic when he was interested in it.

McCoy settled back down on the ground and took another drink from the rapidly-emptying bottle. "Interesting story, that one. I was sittin' in a bar one night, and this guy came in lookin' for me. Heard about some research I'd been workin' on. Made me an offer, told me I could work for them, they'd set me up in a lab somewhere." He told the story quietly, as if repeating something that happened a long time ago to someone else. "Seeing as I didn't have anything else goin' on, I figured, 'What the fuck, why not?', you know?" Another sip from the bottle. "And that is how I ended up in that little bar in god damn Riverside, Iowa."

"Well, shit." Jim couldn't think of much else to say to that story. "What kind of research were you doing?" He swiped the bottle this time with an easy grin and let the burn of it clear out his throat before he gave the bottle back.

"I been developing this procedure," McCoy answered. "Found a way to graft neural tissues to a chronically-injured nervous system, like spinal cords. Been successful." he smiled slow, proud. "Been workin' on the cerebral cortex next, co-transplanting the peripheral nerve tissue-" He stopped, catching himself. "You can tell me to shut up if I get too long-winded, won't offend me. I forget sometimes that not another damn soul on this planet finds this shit the least bit interesting."

Completely the opposite. Jim's brows were somewhere in his hairline, "You mean you're transplanting peripheral nerve tissue into the cerebal cortex? Neural tissue isn't devoted to the system its a part of, then?" Jim leaned forward, interested. If what he was gathering from the doctor was right, it would be an absolutely amazing step forward in medical science.

An eyebrow arched, the wrinkles making McCoy look older again. "It's branching off the existing work in the field," he began slowly. "We've been able to graft stem cells for a while now, and they take to whatever new tissue they come in contact with. But with the brain, it's been harder creating those specific axonal pathways in the brain cells." Sitting back, he dropped the bottle to the side, using his hands to draw a picture in the dirt between them. "Normally when there is an injury, the central nervous system responds by scarring, which leads to the lack of appropriate contacts and makes it hard for the basal ganglia to make contact with the new tissue." He went on for a bit longer, his face lighting up at parts when describing the methods and success stories he'd had in the past few years.

Jim followed along, asking questions when he really didn't understand something but incredibly interested. McCoy seemed to get younger when he spoke like this, enough to make Jim smile as he listened. It was amazing to listen to, the work of a genius. Only when McCoy sat back, and Jim was sure he was done, did Jim say the thought that kept buzzing about in his head, "...McCoy, the only way something like that is ever going to take off is if you take that job in Starfleet." With the unspoken _so go fucking do it_ attached.

But McCoy responded by chuckling. "Truth? I fucking hate space. Hate flying." He took a deep breath, looking sheepish. "I was at the bar getting drunk 'cause I didn't want to think about having to get into a damn shuttle and fly in the morning."

...Really?

Jim gestured a little, "I hate to tell you this but... that's where Starfleet operates. In space." Man, McCoy must have been in a serious strait to want to risk something he feared enough to get plastered before it even started.

McCoy pulled off his boots and laid down. "How long you think we got on the road until we hit Denver?" he asked casually, ignoring the Starfleet comments.

"...another... six, seven hours, maybe a little more," was all Jim said.

A satisfied grunt. "You find us a little town, and breakfast is on me tomorrow, okay kid?"

That _kid_ thing again. "Sick of my cooking already?" Jim attempted a light tease, both at McCoy and himself.

McCoy just laughed at that. "Too many more potatoes and I'm gonna end up all skinny like you... trust me, won't look as good on me as it does on you." He closed his eyes, murmured something quiet to himself, and nothing more was heard.

* * *

  


  


The silence mostly continued into the morning. They broke camp together with only an occasional grunt from either of them to get it all packed up and back into the saddle bag on Jim's cycle. Jim caught McCoy wincing from time to time, rubbing at his back as if it bothered him. _...Not used to sleeping on the ground, that's for fucking sure. Least he'll have hotel rooms from now on._

They were back on the road after the sun had started rising, giving a glow against their backs as they chased the remainders of the night towards Denver. They were headed west now, the cycle the only sound but the wind. McCoy offered no words, so Jim just let the silence continue between them and instead turned into his own thoughts.

He wondered if the cause of McCoy's divorce was his drinking, and that was why the man had reacted so harshly to it. Or maybe he just didn't want to admit to his own faults. Jim also wondered if he was really looking as thin as McCoy said. He had always been strong, he had muscle on his form, but... well, maybe he needed a few good meals on his bones. Money was something that came and went, sometimes he didn't have to worry about it and sometimes he ached for even a little bit to get by. It wasn't a great life, not by most definitions, but at least it was a life he had chosen after he had run from Starfleet.

And now, it seemed, Starfleet was finding him no matter how much he tried.

It had been stupid to go to Riverside, where he _knew_ Starfleet had a heavy presence there. It wasn't like anyone would recognize him - James Tiberius Kirk had ceased to exist in the visual minds of people a long time ago until his father was just some glorified hero no one knew anything about and the children he had sired were a myth. Jim preferred it that way. He had a record, both schooling and criminal, but nothing anyone looked twice at. Not dangerous enough to be in jail, and with too much of a criminal history to look at the schooling. He still learned, even kept up with the latest changes the best he could thanks to libraries and the news. Why, he never really questioned why, just the idea that if he didn't keep learning, life got boring and meaningless _fast_.

The town he found he couldn't have named until they went past a welcome sign on the outskirts of it. _North Platte_. Some tiny, barely on the map town in Nebraska. Jim pulled up in front of the first place he spotted that looked decent and turned off the cycle.

They went inside and found a table, McCoy ordering his coffee and toast. He was quiet, but clear-eyed, watching everything with a sort of curiosity that Jim hadn't seen before. It almost looked like he might be having _fun_. "Gonna be a pretty day," McCoy said absently, twisting in his chair to pop his back. "If you find us a grocery store, I'll get you some provisions for later. You know, repay you for the ride. Unless, you know, you just want the money."

Jim made a mental note to offer McCoy a back popping later. The offer to pay him was a nice one, but that wasn't why he was doing this. "Nah, but some supplies would be great." He just couldn't seem to figure out McCoy, who seemed to have mood changes as fast as the weather changed.

"Whatever you want," McCoy told him, giving him a grin. "You know, I can't tell you the last time I slept so hard. Must be the air," he wondered aloud, thanking the wait staff who brought his toast. "I might order more of this, I'm actually hungry this morning."

That brought a smile to Jim's face. "It's some outdoor living!" He laughed, digging into his own breakfast. Despite the wild-eyes, McCoy had a very handsome grin that was encouraging. He sipped a glass of orange juice before he dared to suggest something else, "You know, if you could handle the trip... we could just keep going west, ya know. ...past Denver."

McCoy's face went from casual to curious. "What do you mean, keep going west?" he asked, as if he hadn't heard Jim correctly.

"You know..." Slipped in a mouthful of french toast, chewed, swallowed. "Out west. Like, California."

McCoy watched Jim carefully. "I thought we decided I was unsuited for that particular lifestyle." Every once in a while McCoy actually _sounded_ like the educated person he was supposed to be.

Jim shrugged a little. "Except the world needs a genius doctor who might be able to save people from living shitty lives," he felt obligated to point out.

"Jesus, genius doctor. That ain't me, you know that." All of a sudden the shadows came back and covered McCoy's face. "I don't- look, don't think... I mean-" He closed his eyes and sighed, looking a lot like a man who didn't know what he wanted to say.

"Try... the opposite," Jim leaned on an elbow. "This is a man I listened to talk about some pretty big things, that Starfleet itself asked to come join them. Most people have to work to get into Starfleet."

For a fraction of a second, McCoy looked at Jim like he almost believed him. Almost.

Instead McCoy shook his head. "I'm gonna wash out, I think we both know that. Fucking scared to fly in a shuttle. Can you see me actually getting up there without passing out?" He folded his hands in front of him to keep from tearing at the napkin. "I only said yes 'cause I got nothing else, no where to go. Wife got the house and the kid, half my income for the next fourteen years." He snorted. "Ah hell, I don't know... not like I got anywhere else to go." McCoy looked back up at Jim, unsure, unsettled.

Shit, McCoy had a kid? McCoy was walking, talking, drinking proof about why Jim avoided relationships. They fucked people up in every way possible. Marriage just made that fucking up legal. Jim tried to think of what to say, something that would calm him down. Instead, he just let fly whatever came to his lips, "...least with Starfleet, you could be saving people, even if you can't save yourself."

Even before he finished it, Jim was wincing at how stupid it must have sounded.

"...Maybe." McCoy didn't even seem put out by Jim's words. Hell, maybe they even made sense in that strange place he was in his head. "Maybe, kid-oh hell, I mean Jim." McCoy looked sheepish. "Sorry 'bout that 'kid' business, another bad habit of mine." He finished his coffee in silence, thinking. By the time Jim was done eating, McCoy looked like he'd made up his mind. "Give me a minute to talk to someone, okay?" the doctor asked, standing and heading outside the diner. Jim wondered who that someone was as he dug back into his breakfast.

A few minutes later McCoy returned, pocketing his communicator. "Okay, I told 'em I had a family emergency and missed the shuttle. They said I could arrive anytime before classes begin, which is in three days and I'll be okay." McCoy looked different now, like there was something happening inside him. "You sure?"

"Three days..." Jim closed his eyes, trying to picture a map in his head. His next words were cautious. "Can you actually drive a cycle?"

McCoy rolled his eyes at him. "Yeah, Jim, I can drive a cycle. Look, if you don't wanna, that's fine, I'll figure another way there-"

So Jim rolled his eyes right back, "I was _asking_ because its a long goddamn way to San Francisco. We can make it in three days if we both drive, but it'll be tight. I offered, didn't I? I don't offer what I don't mean to offer."

Then McCoy looked at him, eyes boring inside him as if he were searching for something, some motivation, some reason why this guy was offering to be nice to him like this. "Yeah, I can drive a cycle, Jim," his tone had changed from sarcastic to something more gentle, "and I appreciate the offer, if it's still on the table."

Those eyes... they were piercing when they wanted to be. It didn't stop him, though. "It is." Jim offered his hand, in agreement. "You help drive, I'll make sure we get there in three days."

The hand was accepted. "It's a deal. Thanks, Jim."

When the check came, McCoy paid it, then stared ruefully at his card. "I don't get paid next until I sign my paperwork at the Academy. This," he shook the card, "is gonna have to last three days, and there's not much left on it. Can probably swing a hotel room tonight."

Jim shook his head, "...Mc--" he stopped, then shook his head again. "Leonard." ..No. "Len? Leo? Lenny?"

McCoy laughed, loud this time. "Been called them all, Jim, and worse. Take your pick."

Jim met those dark eyes, studying him. "Len, for now." Until he figured out what suited the doctor best. "I don't normally sleep indoors. I'm fine staying outside. Makes the money stretch longer. I'd rather some real food every night than a bed."

"We can do that," McCoy told him, standing. "Let's get some food and stuff for later, in case we don't find anything better. You got an idea how to get there?" he asked.

"Things that won't go bad, or in cans. Can't carry too much... I have a bag I can keep on my back, and a little room in the saddle bags, but not much. Good time of year to travel, if we stick to the back roads we'll keep finding farmer's fields until we hit towards Nevada. Getting over the Rockies... that's never any fun." He knew a few ways to go, but all of them meant traffic.

"You're in charge then," McCoy replied, a teasing note to his voice as they left. An hour later, they were ready, having stopped off at a store to get supplies for two for the rest of the day and fueled up the cycle. They looked at a map, and McCoy seemed at least comfortable that Jim knew where he was going. Once Jim had his way settled, he stopped just beside the cycle.

Jim smirked, "You'll drive first. Prove to me you can do it." He gestured to the cycle, like an attendant for a limo.

McCoy took a deep breath, like he wanted to say something really sarcastic, but instead straddled the cycle and turned it on. "Anytime you're ready," he said, looking back at the small seat behind him.

"I'm always ready, baby," Jim said in a low tone followed by a laugh as he climbed on behind McCoy. It was... _weird_ in every sense. He never let anyone else drive his cycle, had never ridden passenger. McCoy didn't need to know that though. He just settled himself where it felt comfortable, then nodded. "Let's go."

It took McCoy a few minutes to get completely situated, but he seemed comfortable enough after a while as they headed west on the road Jim recommended. It was another warm day, but the sun was behind them as they rode and almost overhead when they hit the Colorado border. "Cheap lunch in the next town?" McCoy asked Jim, turning his head back toward the man behind him.

"Mm?" Jim sounded almost like he was just waking up. "Anything you want." Something about lunch, he had heard. Then he blinked and looked at McCoy again. _Did I fall asleep?_ No. Not on a cycle... just drowsy. Lunch? But they just ate... he just would order something small. He really didn't need to bother until dinner, but apparently McCoy was used to eating more regularly. A little driving around found them a hole-in-the-wall burger place where they split something cheap, and walked around a few minutes afterwards to stretch their legs before heading back west on the bike.

Eventually, they traded off. Jim took over, feeling comfortable despite the longer drive with the weight of McCoy against his back. He let the cycle open up on the road, fast as he dared to make the greatest distance they could. It was late, about ten o'clock, when they finally stopped for the night in some small town in Colorado that Jim didn't even bother to name. Small towns were all alike. All that mattered was that this particular town, like most of them, had a bar. That was where he pulled up, turning off the engine.

McCoy clapped Jim on the back. "I like the way you think," he said, stretching his arms in the air. "First round's on me." It was like any other small bar in a small town - dingy and dark, old music droning out of the speakers on the walls, the lingering smell of smoke and beer in the air. People pressed against each other in hopes of finding something special. They found a couple seats at the bar, and McCoy ordered a couple beers, handing one to Jim. "To new friends," he said, raising his bottle a few inches before taking a long swig.

That was something he could drink to. "New friends," Jim echoed, drinking most of the glass in a shot. Felt like the best thing in the world after a long day in the heat and dust. He just leaned on the bar and closed his eyes, listening and letting his eyes rest after the long day. It was the short time when the world felt simple and right, where his muscles stretched out and cooled down and so did his mind.

The second beer went down ever smoother, and it wasn't long before they were on their third, McCoy ordering them one after another. "How come you left home so young?" he asked, proving he had been listening when Jim was talking about himself the day before, even if it didn't look like he was paying attention. McCoy seemed to do that a lot.

"Didn't have a choice. Step-dad kicked me out." Easier to let McCoy believe that. Partial truth.

"Fuck," was McCoy's emphatic reply. "So, you gonna stay in California, you think?"

Jim could only shrug to that. "I don't make plans ahead of time. If I find something there to do, I'll stay until I want to leave again. Maybe head south, towards Mexico."

McCoy nodded. "Sounds warm there." He fell silent after that, just letting the weariness of the day roll off him.

"...You mentioned a kid. What's his name?" Jim asked, hitching the edge of his shoe against the rail of the bar. The conversation was easier, the beer making everything relaxed and fluid. Maybe he could even keep his foot out of his mouth.

Gripping the bottle a little tighter, McCoy looked at the liquid for a moment. "Joanna. Her name's Joanna." A little smile flit across his face. "She's four." He looked back up at Jim, and for a moment looked like a completely different person.

"Yea? She look like her Daddy?" He tried to envision a kid named Joanna. Just from the tone in McCoy's voice, it wasn't hard to pick out that she was absolutely adored, that little girl. Only four...

McCoy shrugged, but couldn't keep the smile off his face. "A little," he told Jim, meaning yes, she did. "She lives with her mom."

"Got a picture of her?" Now Jim was definitely curious.

McCoy pulled out the datapad from his pocket, and began scrolling through files. "Here she is," he said, holding out a photo of a little girl with long curls sitting on a floor holding a cat in her arms. The smile on her face was infectious, and McCoy couldn't help the grin despite the sadness in his eyes.

Jim studied the picture, glancing between it and the doctor beside him. "Shit, she looks just like you. Liar." It was a tease, but an honest compliment. "She's beautiful, no wonder you're so damn proud of her. Bet she misses her Dad... like he misses her."

A deep sigh out of McCoy, about as emotional as he was going to let himself get here. "Well, she's where she needs to be right now." It didn't look like he was entirely resigned to that idea, but what else could he do. "What about you, Jimmy?" McCoy asked, looking once more at the picture and putting it in his pocket as he finished his beer. "You got any family?"

That earned McCoy a snort. "Jim." Damn, he hated Jimmy with a passion, reminding him of Frank. The second question he answered what he believed, "Not anymore. Gone, or dead. Just me, myself, and I." And that was how he preferred it. Less pain, in the end.

"Jim," McCoy repeated. "Well, I guess I can sort of relate, a little. Just me now." He looked at Jim and gave him a little grin. "Guess we got each other," he joked, waving at the bartender for another beer. Jim blinked at the statement, not sure what to make it of. He only let it occupy him for a few seconds before he shrugged it off and grinned, easing off on the beer he had. Looked like he'd be taking the first shift on driving the next morning.

"So, what sorta stuff you do when you travel?" McCoy asked, looking over at Jim, looking relaxed and comfortable at the bar. "What kinda of places you been to?"

Jim thought about the answer before he spoke, choosing some things in the mass of the greater whole. "I pick up odd jobs, here and there, enough to earn me the credits to keep going. Good with electronics, cars, cycles..." He jerked his thumb in the vague direction of the entrance to the bar, "I built that from a scrapped cycle. Places I've been... been anywhere in this country, been a couple of places off planet. Like traveling, seeing new places..." His voice trailed off as he sucked down more of the cold beer.

"Furthest away you ever been?" McCoy asked, taking another long drag of his beer.

"Andoria. Got good money to help haul a bunch of liquor out that way." Jim's grin was wide. "Maybe not the most legal of jobs, but definitely interesting." The partial lie was an easy one, seven years of practice behind it, but Jim never mentioned Tarsus and never would.

"You do what you gotta do," McCoy replied back, not looking too shocked at Jim's words. "Sounds like you got quite a few stories, Jim Kirk. Been to college at all, or just school of life sorta learning?" he asked, not sounding condescending at all - if anything, sounding a little impressed.

"No official college, but I keep up with what I can. Libraries are still free, at least. Otherwise, life's taught me how to do a lot. 'Specially staying alive." Jim stared over the bar, frowning at a glowing light for some bright advertisement. He shook off the feeling that tried to sweep over him and grinned instead. "I've just always had a thing for learning."

McCoy was probably less intoxicated than he looked, despite the long day of traveling and inconsistent meals, and he looked over at Jim like he could tell something was up, but still, he didn't press. Maybe he didn't think he knew Jim well enough, maybe he ultimately just didn't care. Whatever the reason, McCoy just nodded at Jim's words and offered his own small smile in return. "You got a sharp mind on you, and I'm not just sayin' that. You asked good questions last night, real good ones." He finished the rest of that beer in one swig. "You oughta settle down somewhere, go to school, see what happens."

"I'd get restless," That was out first, before Jim even could fully think it out. "Not just making some bullshit excuse," on top of the easier things like not having the money, "Could you imagine someone like me locked down to one place? Same shit day in and out? Sounds like prison to me," Jim rubbed the back of his neck, "know it's not for most people, though."

McCoy looked over at Jim, slightly amused look on his face. "If you say so, Jim," he replied slow. "I guess in the end, its about making yourself happy. If what you're doing makes you happy, then go for it."

Jim gestured with his glass a little, "When I find what makes me happy? I'll comm you." Though, right now, he actually felt pretty happy. Despite his strangeness and mood changes, McCoy made for good company.

"Well, what do you want to do?" McCoy asked. "Perfect world - what is Jim Kirk doing? What would you be doing if you could do anything you wanted?" No idle small talk, McCoy looked genuinely interested, as if he hadn't figured out what made Jim tick, and wanted to know more.

Jim went to answer McCoy, but nothing came out. He looked at nothing, frowning, as he leaned forward to put his chin on his hand. He thought about it in silence, then finally answered, "I don't know." It was quiet, but honest. "Something where I can be free, and traveling. That's all I know."

McCoy gave a little snort. "Sounds like you're the one who should be joining Starfleet." He took a deep breath and exhaled slow. "Where we gonna sleep tonight? You want some food first?"

"...Couldn't. All that... rules. Too many," Jim shook his head unhappily. "Prison, for someone like me."

McCoy looked at him for a long time after that, maybe trying to imagine Jim doing something like that, but - he looked unsure. "C'mon, Jim, let's go eat before I fall asleep here."

"Besides," Jim stood up, tossing some credits to the bar, "...I'm not the kind of person Starfleet wants." _They want a hero, not a criminal._

Another sharper glance, but still, McCoy seemed to hold his tongue. They walked across the street to a little restaurant and sat down, eating some poorly made Italian food. Maybe it was the beer in their systems, maybe the talk of their lives, but both men seemed happier to eat quietly, a comfortable silence. It was nearly midnight when they left, the restaurant closing, and McCoy stretched and yawned as he looked back at Jim. "Still wanna try and find a place to camp, or should we grab a cheap room? Think I can swing it, if we keep our supplies for tomorrow."

Jim looked up at the stars above them, and gave a smile. He had a lot to think about tonight. What he had learned of McCoy, the questions the doctor had asked of him. _In a perfect world... what would I be doing?_ In a perfect world, his mother would have stayed. In a perfect world, he would have never ended up on Tarsus IV. He thought about McCoy trying to rub out the kinks from his back in the morning, and made a choice. "If you want a room, we can do that. We have enough supplies."

McCoy couldn't hide the grateful expression on his face. "Thanks, Jim." They were both tired, it was easy to see by the way they ambled over to the cycle, climbed on and sped off in the quiet of the night. They found some place inexpensive (but clean-looking, the doctor insisted), and headed inside, tossing their bags onto the floor. "You wanna shower first?" McCoy asked, taking off his boots with obvious relief.

"Got it first last time, you take it." Jim kicked off his boots and stretched out on the bed, closing his eyes. The clean sheets and soft bed felt good against his skin. Maybe he was just too used to the ground, and anything more than that felt like an expensive luxury.

There was no argument from McCoy, who began taking off his clothes on the way to the bathroom. No one could have blamed Jim for watching McCoy's back, hoping for a glimpse of a little more. He was only human, after all. McCoy spent a little longer than he needed too, but eventually he emerged, towel around his waist. "I think I washed half of Nebraska out of my hair," he yawned, starting to dig inside his bag for clothes. "All yours."

It got a chuckle out of Jim before he started to strip down. He was nude before he even hit the bathroom - wasn't like he had anything to hide. Equally, it was easy to quickly pinch one out while he was in the privacy of the shower. Between that and the warm water, he felt relaxed and ready for bed when he came out. Jim dropped the towel to pull on a pair of shorts, something loose and comfortable. Used for working out, sleeping, or anything else that jeans just weren't comfortable for. McCoy was laying on the far side of the bed in a pair of boxers, one leg under the sheets and the other hanging out. He didn't make any sort movement as Jim headed toward the bed.

"You got a preference?" McCoy asked.

Maybe it was just how Jim's mind was wired that an answer fell from his lips before he even _thought_ about the question, "Not really, I'll take anyone as they come provided I can figure out how to do it."

There was no way for McCoy to hide the flush on his face, or the look of -confusion? amusement? interest? - maybe all three, that was all over his face. "I meant, what side of the bed do you want?" he finally answered, leaning back and staring at Jim.

Jim froze in place, actually embarrassed for a second. _Great impression to make_. He didn't worry about it too long, and just laughed, "Sorry. I really don't care at all." But there had been something in that look. McCoy was a good looking man... _Get off that train of thought now Jim._

McCoy just nodded, eyes still locked on Jim. He looked worn out, weary, as if the traveling was finally catching up with him. "Alright then. I'm just gonna..." He rolled over, reaching for the lamp and turning it off on his side. "G'nite," he murmured, rolling onto one side and curling his arms around his pillow.

"Night," Jim said quietly, moving over to get into the bed. He slid under the sheets, stretching out but taking care to keep to his 'side' of the bed. McCoy didn't seem the type to appreciate random touches. In fact, the doctor seemed almost... cut off. Jim wondered if that wall was self built or built by circumstance.

A few moments passed, then a question. "It always like this?" McCoy asked sleepily from his side of the bed.

"Mmm?" The question made no sense, out of context. "Is what always like this?" The room was dark, still, quiet. Jim thought maybe he could hear the slow pull of the breathing of the body beside him, but it could just as easily have been his own.

"The traveling. Moving around on your own." There wasn't fear in his voice, thick with sleep... more like apprehension.

Jim was cautious in his reply only because he didn't know where the questions were leading. "Most of the time. Don't spend more than a month or two in any one place." He stared at the darkness that hid the ceiling, "Never... found any place that felt like I should be staying there. Like... I belonged." Jim frowned at his own statement. It sounded stupid, floating there in the space between him and a near-stranger. There was something about McCoy, maybe that something that made him a good doctor, that made it feel... okay. Okay to say shit like that.

"...Never lived anywhere else before, you know?" McCoy's voice was quiet. "I mean, I went away to college, but when I was done I went back home." A deep sigh, and McCoy cleared his throat. "Guess I screwed that pooch." Jim gave a weak chuckle at the saying. A moment later it was echoed with a bitter chuckle. "Anyway, thanks Jim. For helpin' me. You make it look easy." _Being alone._

"Glad to help you," Jim said quietly, but then he smirked. "Someday, listening to them preach about the advances that the great Doctor McCoy made and how many lives he saved, I'll know I got him started." There was a little grunt from McCoy then nothing more, the breathing getting slower and even until only gentle snores could be heard from McCoy's side of the bed.

Jim sighed, letting his eyes close. To him, it sounded like McCoy didn't believe in himself at all. To him, that's what relationships did to people. Made them do stupid things like forget who they were. He hoped that being in Starfleet, learning and getting everything the doctor needed to further his studies, would help heal McCoy. Maybe knowing he was saving lives, getting to see the reality of it, would do that.

Jim fell asleep like that, still thinking about doctors and lives and how they needed each other to survive.

 

 _He'd really done it this time. All his sweet talk, even a bribe hadn't been enough to get him out of this. The tight feeling of the cuffs bit into his wrists, made his hands feel numb. The prison was cold, cold enough to send shivers down his spine as they walked. It was a vague, dark figure in front of him with a heavy gait and only the vague feeling of someone being behind him. The someone behind him set off every bad instinct in his body, and he had to resist the urge to turn or growl or glare. They wouldn't allow that._

 _They shoved him into a cell after undoing his cuffs. No bed, no toilet, nothing - just a thin metal bench, three walls, and bars. A bare lightbulb hung above his head, and the slamming of the door made it sway. The light played through the bars, whiteblackwhiteblackwhiteblack._

 _Jim sat down, rubbing at his wrists, get some feeling back in his hands. He studied the small cell with its white walls, wondering how many people had been there before him. His eyes closed and he rubbed his palms into them, feeling pressure build. Jim twitched when he felt something in the cell change, something subtle in the air around him, and he lifted his head. Instead of the white wall across the cell, there was now a smudged, dirty wall of stone. It looked scoured by the ages, ill formed and ugly. There was something there, Jim realized, something actually etched into the stone leaving a small light-colored streak. He had to stand and cross the cell to run his thumb across words scored into the stone of the cell. Seven words, written as neat as if they had been typed on the wall, 'I am the captain of my soul.' He recognized it immediately, an old poem from hundreds of years ago. Even as he started to think about that, he saw more words. He moved along the wall, tracking them to their beginning. 'A million worlds may be, with each a god to bless or blast, and steer to destiny.' Below them, though it took him a minute to remember, were the beginning lines of his favorite book as a child_ \- Treasure Island.

 _As he stared at the stone wall, he realized that there was more than just quotes carved into it. Dates, times, places... names of people. Words he had himself spoken. The words filled the wall top to bottom. There was some sort of pattern... he just needed time to figure it out..._

 _The feeling in the air twisted again. It was a sickening feeling that went straight through his bones. Jim turned in place and sucked in a breath as he realized that the bars were gone and left behind in their place was a fourth wall. It was completely blank, pristine and white. No windows, no bars, nothing. Four solid walls. His breathing starting to pick up as terror overcame him. No way out, trapped. He looked for vents, defects, anything, anything except four impassive walls. He didn't dare scream for help. He didn't need anyone else._

 _Were the walls getting closer? Jim turned again, feet shuffling against the floor. It was getting colder, and now he could see his breath steaming on the air in front of him. He put out his arms, and held his breath when he realized he could touch a wall on either side of him. They were closing in on him, trapping him further--_

 _"Kirk." A voice, sharp, strong, somehow almost familiar. Jim twisted just in time to see a symbol on the fourth wall, glowing with a bright white light. "Someone's here to bail you out," before Jim could even ask who would do something like that, "Some doctor... Leonard McCoy."_

 _Jim walked forward towards the symbol, and went to trace it with his fingertips. He recognized it from somewhere, the star in the middle..._

 _A door opened before him, and he stepped out of the cell--_

 

Jim gasped as he woke up all at once, heart racing, staring into the darkness around him. He tried to reach out, wanting to feel for the walls that still had to be there, but something was holding him back. Strong arms wrapped around him. "Shhh," a sleepy voice murmured, pulling him close to another warm body. Legs tangled, and a scruffy face nuzzled against Jim's neck, steady, even breathing throughout. McCoy was still asleep, lost in his own dreams, but pulling Jim closer as if he could drag Jim down into dreamland with him. Jim froze against the warmth behind him, eyes wide. He held there in place, feeling his heart against his rib cage, but nothing came of it. Just warm arms, holding him loosely and the strange feeling of slow deep breathing against his skin.

He could feel the faint prickle of McCoy's scruff against his neck, but even despite himself he realized he was starting to relax. It came in degrees, such as the slowing of his heart, the loosening of his muscles in his shoulders, the evening out of his own breathing. Jim was wide awake, able to take in every detail of it. Was McCoy dreaming about someone else, maybe the ex-wife? But he had heard the quiet _shhh_ noise. McCoy had... shit. That meant he had been crying out or moaning or moving in his sleep.

The nightmare was already drifting away, except for some parts that had frozen into still-frames. Jim brought up a hand and smoothed the palm across McCoy's arm, feeling muscle and skin beneath. The solid, real nature of the body against his, a known body that had slept beside him without killing him, paid for his survival in part, even saved his ass in fight... that pulled away the terror that had been a part of the dream.

It let Jim fall back asleep as the sun started to meet the edge of the world.

* * *

  


  


When Jim woke up the next morning, they were still pressed up to each other, McCoy's arms wrapped around him. He didn't feel the urge to move or even fully waken yet, so he didn't even bother. Jim let himself drift where he was laying, vaguely aware of his surroundings and the surrounding heat. There was a small feeling of motion somewhere directly behind him, a repetitive motion by his thigh. Once aware of it, Jim started to pull his sleepy mind to the surface to focus on it, but before he could do so he felt McCoy get up out of the bed. With his source of warmth leaving, Jim turned over and nosed into the empty spot unconsciously in order to go back to sleep.

It seemed his body had other ideas in mind though. Jim groaned thickly as his body decided it wanted to _fuck_. It was barely even a thought to reach down and wrap his fingers around himself, stroking himself as he stayed comfortable in the warm spot where two bodies had spent the night. There was no conscious thought about the shower he could hear in the background, or the knowledge that McCoy had taken a shower last night and shouldn't have needed one, but there must have been some _unconscious_ thought about it as he realized he was thinking about that other body that had left. An image of McCoy walking out of the shower with just a towel around his hips, the towel falling to the ground--

Jim gave a little gasp as he came, fingers curling to catch the mess. It felt like being fourteen again and discovering just how un-fun constant morning wood was, stroking one out before he went down to breakfast. He turned over in the bed, peering blearily around in the sunlight coming in through the windows, until he spotted a tissue dispenser. He cleaned himself up before sitting up and throwing the mess into the waste bin. There he sat, elbows tucked on his thighs and slumped over, body content in its used pleasure and the last drifts of sleep.

A small measure of guilt, something James T. Kirk wasn't particularly used to feeling, went through him as he realized that he had been fantasizing about McCoy. McCoy hadn't shown a lick of interest in him like that. Fuck the guy was just divorced, from a woman. Not that it really meant anything, it being from a woman, but the divorce had to make things hard. Jim knew himself to be no small flirt, but he wasn't an asshole about it. If someone showed an active dislike to his flirting, showed no interest in return, he would cut it out. Equally, he knew the smallest sign of interest would keep him going at it long after most men had given up. There'd been plenty of that in the past, working out sometimes and other times... usually ending in his face hurting from a punch or slap.

Jim forced himself out of the warm bed and started to get dressed, eyeing the dusty clothing from yesterday. He took a minute to go outside of the motel, glad they weren't facing the parking lot because he didn't need to be shocking anyone at this hour with his nakedness, and shook the clothing hard to get rid of some of the dust. He went back inside, tugging on the clothing, before he repeated the dusting with McCoy's clothing. He finished just in time, judging from the way the freshly-showered man was sitting on the bed when Jim got back in the room. Wearing his towel again, McCoy watched Jim as he walked back into the room, his eyebrow arched. "Didn't think to wash something last night," he shook his head at his travel bag, full of dirty clothes. "Gonna have to take care of that tonight, I suppose," he added, giving Jim a quiet 'thanks' as he took the jeans from him.

Jim just gave a small grin. "You probably don't want to know how I've been washing my clothes for years. We'll see if we can find someplace for you to do it." Soap, usually the bar he kept in his saddle bag, and whatever water he could get his hands on be it a sink, creek, bathtub...

If McCoy was embarrassed by anything that happened that night (hell, if he even remembered), he wasn't showing it. "I won't break if I gotta wash my clothes in a river," he told him. "You got the route picked out for today?" he asked, standing and walking toward his travel bag. Turning his back to Jim, he dropped his towel and pulled the jeans on right over his naked form.

Jim totally checked out that ass.

Pulling on a slightly wrinkled shirt from his bag, McCoy ran a hand through his hair, straightening it out best he could. "We could stop somewhere later and snack on our supplies instead of eating breakfast. Might save a few bucks."

Jim nodded with McCoy's suggestion, scratching his jawline. "We have enough to get us through breakfast and a little more beyond that. Yea, I have a route planned out. We need to put a lot of miles behind us today, so we should get going." Ignoring the fact he wanted to do several inappropriate things to McCoy in this nice clean hotel room.

"I'm ready when you are," McCoy answered with a grin. Packing up quickly, he was ready to go about the same time Jim was, and soon they were on the road, heading west.

 

They made it about three hours until McCoy begged to stop for some coffee. Jim teased him for it, but pulled off the road at the next town they came across to suffer McCoy's addiction. They munched on some food bars from their packs and switched off, McCoy taking a longer shift at driving today. Clouds started rolling in, giving them a break from the brutal heat of the day before, and making the afternoon ride easier without the glare. They passed through Colorado and made it into Utah, Jim's route taking them through trees and forests towards Salt Lake City.

It was a mix of the rapidly fading food bars in Jim's stomach and the goofy grin he got on his face when he read the name of the town that encouraged him to stop for lunch. They pulled into a small cafe, stretching their legs as they headed inside and found a booth by the window where they could keep an eye on the cycle. McCoy ordered the burger special and went to the bathroom first. The waitress was just bringing them two glasses of water by the time Jim emerged, dust and grime washed off his hands and face.

McCoy was watching him. "So, what's so funny?" he asked, taking a sip from his glass. "You look like the cat that swallowed the canary."

"Spanish Fork."

"...What?"

"Spanish. _Fork_."

McCoy's face displayed pure confusion. "What the hell you talking about?" he asked, lowering his voice at the obscenity. "Forks?"

Jim picked up the little dessert menu still on the table and held it an inch in front of McCoy's face so the name of the cafe, which had the name of the town in its logo, was large and very visible. "The name of the town. It's Spanish Fork."

"And?" McCoy grinned a little. "I must be missing the joke - what's so funny?"

He put the menu down, "Come on! It's called Spanish Fork. What the hell kind of name is that? All I can see in my head is a bunch of Spanish people dancing around with forks in their hand when I hear that. But why _Spanish_ Fork? Maybe it was a derogatory name hundreds of years ago and just ended up sticking." Jim rambled on, tapping a finger on the menu.

McCoy arched his eyebrow. Damn, how could one man be so expressive with one eyebrow. "I dunno, Jim, maybe there was a fork in road?" he smirked. "And why's it derogatory? This all used to be Spanish land, right? We had a creek back home called Apalachee Creek. That wasn't derogatory."

Jim just shrugged to that, "Well Spanish people wouldn't call it Spanish Fork. They would call it something like Fork. It had to be people, not-Spanish people, that decided on Spanish Fork."

McCoy rolled his eyes, accepting the plate from the waitress delivering their food. "No, dipshit," he said, popping a fry in his mouth. "They woulda called it _el tenedor_." Grinning cheekily, he tossed a second fry in after it.

It took Jim a few moments, staring at McCoy in confusion as he tried to place it. He knew it was Spanish but what? Then, all at once, he got it. His grin grew out of the confused expression and he started laughing. "You fucking smart ass old man!" Jim crowed out as tears formed at the edges of eyes, drawing the attention of several people in the cafe who were now looking at him like he had lost his mind.

McCoy just grinned back, waggling his fork at Jim before dropping it by his plate and digging into his burger. He ate like a starving man, inhaling the food in a couple of bites. "Nah, just had a roommate who knew the language. Taught me some words. How come being outside makes me so hungry?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Probably 'cause you're used to being stuck in a lab or bay all day!" Jim teased, digging into his own burger. He couldn't put it away like McCoy, but he actually took a few extra seconds to enjoy it.

"Maybe," McCoy nodded, considering Jim's words. Reaching over his plate, he snagged the dessert menu and started looking over it. His eyes danced a little.

"Oh?" Jim wondered what had caught McCoy's eye. He leaned over, peering. _Oh_. Lemon Meringue Pie. "YES," Jim breathed out. McCoy grinned back and waved the waitress over, ordering a slice with two forks.

When it arrived, McCoy took a bite and sighed, closing his eyes as he ate. "This is delicious," he said, mouth full of pie. "Here, have some," he added, pushing the plate toward Jim.

Jim picked up his fork and dug into the edge of the pie, groaning as he got a taste of fluff white meringue. It was _perfect_ , light and creamy on his tongue. McCoy stopped mid-bite, watching Jim's face before finishing his forkful. Jim opened his eyes just in time to catch an odd look on McCoy's face, something subtle in the raised eyebrow and the parted lips. He looked down at the creamy white on his fork, raised his own brows, and smirked just a little. _Hmm_...

Jim brought the fork back up to his mouth, giving the tines a long lick. McCoy was still watching Jim, eyes following that fork until it left Jim's mouth. "You like it?" the doctor asked, his face flushing a little.

That flush told Jim more than McCoy probably wanted to know. So there was some interest there? Oh ho ho... Jim tucked his head down and smiled to himself. "Sure do." The tip of his tongue curled around the tip of a tine, then he slid the fork back into the pie for another bite. McCoy countered by taking his own bite, their eyes locked. Jim could damn well play that game if McCoy was up to it.

Before long the pie was gone, both of their forks very clean, and it was time to head out back on the road.

Jim might have taken a little advantage of McCoy after that display in the cafe as McCoy drove. He didn't do anything, not at first, but after about an hour, his fingers strayed from where they had been resting to rub the edge of his thumb against McCoy's stomach. Just testing the waters, as it were. When there was no reaction, good or bad, Jim tried something else instead. His hands smoothed down along McCoy's hips, and along the outside of his thighs. McCoy couldn't ignore it this time, the little smirk on his face showing that he at least knew something was going on. "What are you doin'?" he asked, leaning back a little so he could speak into Jim's ear.

"...feeling you out," Jim whispered back, keeping his voice quiet and low but just loud enough to be heard over wind and engine. He squeezed there at the thighs, getting a little bolder by curling his fingers over the tops of them.

"And how does it feel?" McCoy asked, surprising Jim by not pulling back or away. The doctor just seemed sort of amused by it all.

"Good," Jim sounded just as amused, "really, really good." He flatted his palms along the top, smoothing down towards the knees as far as he could reach.

At that McCoy did stiffen a little, the cycle weaving then straightening back on the road. "You're gonna get us killed, kid," he answered with a little grin Jim could see out of the corner of his eye, his head very close to Jim's as they sped faster. "Wanna make it there in one piece."

Fuck, McCoy was responding to it! Jim felt a shiver go through him and he turned his hands so his fingers curved around the inner thighs and _squeezed_. "You'll just have to concentrate on the driving," he said quietly. What the hell was it about the doctor that made him want to do every dirty fucking thing he could to the man... while at the same time, he wanted to feel McCoy nice and slow, giving it everything he had...

All of a sudden a clap of thunder could be heard off to the right, and the wind started to pick up. A light rain began falling and McCoy's face turned from curious to worried. "Hey Jim," he called out in a louder voice, "you wanna drive for while? I'm not sure I'm the one who should be behind the wheel right now if it's going to start rainin'." They had to keep going though, if they were going to make their goal. Otherwise, there was no way they'd make it into San Fransisco by tomorrow afternoon.

This was the last thing they needed. Jim cursed nature's choice of timing and nodded. "Pull over." It was a fast change around before Jim pulled the cycle back onto the road. Jim had driven in weather like this, but it was frustrating. He had to slow down quite a bit as the wind brought heavy rain with it, and within minutes the both of them were soaked straight down to the bone. Eventually, as the rain and wind just got worse with each passing mile, he had to call back to McCoy to get an extra shirt out of his saddlebag which he wrapped around his head to keep down the sting. Dammit they were in Nevada, why was it raining like this? If it got any worse, they'd have to stop. Jim determinedly stared ahead with narrowed eyes, fingers tight on the handlebars.

He had made a promise to get McCoy to San Francisco in three days, so he would.

Sitting in the back, McCoy had to lean forward as much as he could to help protect himself and Jim from the rain. McCoy had wrapped his arms around Jim and held on, keeping the weight on the bike as centered as possible as they rode on in the blackening skies. They drove another two hours in this mess before things really began getting bad, the thunder crashing overhead and McCoy holding on tighter and tighter with each turn the bike made. Jim could feel McCoy's hands unconsciously grabbing at his shirt each time they leaned into a turn or the tires on the cycle missed their grip. He was nervous, Jim could tell, breathing and faster now. He swore he could feel McCoy's heartbeat pounding against his back. "You okay?" he heard the doctor ask, mouth in his ear.

If Jim hadn't been working on keeping them on the road so hard, it would have been erotic. Instead, he was using every trick he knew to make sure they stayed upright against the wind, but he was losing this game. The thunderstorm was getting rapidly worse and he had already had to pull at least one desperate save on the bike. "We need to get off the road!" he called back, almost angry at himself because nature was defeating him. His mind was trying to calculate how far they had gotten, if they would even make it there in time...

Jim stared at the evergreens along side of the small highway and hissed through his teeth. They were more dangerous because of the lightning, but they had to get out of the rain. He slowed down before turning off into the woods. McCoy was off the bike as soon as Jim hit the brakes, moving to the other side to help Jim roll the cycle under the trees. At least one small favor, Jim could feel the rain slacken as soon as they got underneath the entwining branches above. "Hey, over there!" he heard McCoy call out. Through squinted eyes against the pouring rain, he could see McCoy pointing at what looked like an overhang in the rocks in front of them.

Getting closer, Jim could make out that it was more that just an overhang or a hole in the rock, it was a cave. When they got close enough, Jim could make out a few warning signs that told him exactly what the cave was - an abandoned mine shaft. They managed to get themselves and the cycle inside just as another bolt of lightning blazed across the sky. McCoy was breathing hard, one hand holding onto the side of the cave as he stared outside at the torrents coming down. With wet hair stuck to his face, McCoy turned to Jim, worry on his face. "You okay?" he asked, stepping close to Jim, too close, looking all over his face like that first night when he'd examined him.

"I'm fine, promise." Jim undid the material from around his head, feeling a stinging sensation from around his eyes and cheeks where the material hadn't covered. He imagined it was a bright pink by now. He looked around the entrance to the small mine before looking back to McCoy with a small grin. "Well, we made it." His heart was still racing from the ride, and McCoy was as wet as he felt and breathing hard. Jim reached out and squeezed McCoy's shoulder. "Just feel like a drowned rat."

But it seemed McCoy wasn't done with Jim, not yet. One hand reached out to Jim's face, lifting his chin and tilting it toward the dim light from outside the mine aided by the occasional flash of lightning illuminating the cave. From the look on his face, he wasn't happy about the way Jim's skin looked. "Dammit Jim," he murmured, his thumb pushing a piece of hair off Jim's cheek, his eyes catching Jim's every few moments. All of a sudden McCoy let go and walked off. "Sit down," he growled and headed over to the bike to dig through his bag.

Thus Jim sat down, blinking. He touched his cheek where McCoy had brushed it, a strange tingling sensation staying behind. Had to be from the light wind burn. He watched McCoy digging, and frowned as he sat dripping onto the cave floor. It was warm inside the protecting rock, and he wanted to strip down and dry himself off with a tee shirt or something from his bag. There was no way their clothing was drying out over night, but at least, with a glance around, they could put their clothing to stop dripping. With that, listening to McCoy talking to himself, Jim started to pull off his jacket and shirt.

When McCoy turned around, he stared at Jim for a moment before moving toward him. He knelt on the ground next to Jim, uncapping a small tube. "Hold still," he growled quietly, sounding angry but the look on his face was anything but, a tangle of emotions that McCoy seemed unable to control. Slowly he applied the ointment to Jim's skin. "Nothing here that'll react with you," he added, very quiet as he smoothed the cream around the irritated skin around Jim's eyes. Jim stayed silent, eyes staying open as he watched McCoy from that close distance. McCoy was a strange one, incredibly gruff and tender at the same time. Like he was angry Jim had gotten hurt at all, however minor, and was determined to make it better.

The skin started to feel cooler, which Jim took to mean it was working. When McCoy was done, his hand dropping away, Jim kept watching him. Tomorrow, though he was pretty sure later than expected, he'd be dropping McCoy off at the Starfleet Academy. McCoy would go and do great things, because the doctor was a damn genius. Jim wouldn't see him again. He wasn't sure why that brought a strange twisting feeling in his stomach; McCoy was still a stranger to him.

Jim reached out, almost touching McCoy, before letting it drop. "...So tomorrow's it," he said roughly, but there was a thankfulness for the doctor's skill in his tone.

"Yeah," McCoy answered, sounding more like the stand-offish stranger he'd been two days ago than the man who has just been holding Jim's face in his hands. Standing up, McCoy headed toward the far side of the mine shaft, pacing a little and burning off nervous energy. A moment later he shook his head, as if pulling himself out of some dark and stormy thoughts. He pulled his shirt off, wringing it out. If Jim was any judge, it looked like McCoy wanted to talk, but didn't know how. "I'm sorry 'bout all this," McCoy finally blurted out, just as Jim was about to say something. "Didn't mean to cause this sorta trouble."

Which just made Jim... laugh. He leaned back against the cool wall of the rock, "You don't think I've never been caught before in a storm? Hell, this is easier than being trapped in a snow storm. It isn't trouble, it really isn't. In fact... I've been enjoying myself over the last few days. Only thing that's bothering me is this," Jim gestured to the sheeting rain outside, "means our chances of making it by tomorrow afternoon are shot." He felt a little angry about that whole situation, that they had tried and were failing. "Besides, I don't normally have a doctor taking care of me for every stupid thing I do." A silent _thank you_ road the ends of Jim's words.

It was getting darker outside rapidly, another clap of thunder punctuating Jim's remarks, but Jim could see McCoy was shaking his head. "Taking care of you?" McCoy repeated, incredulous. "You've trekked some total stranger half way across the country on your cycle for no other reason than you're a damned good guy. I'm so fuckin' busted I can't afford a stupid shuttle ticket, even I could get my ass on one of those death traps." He was pacing again, hands gesturing wildly. "Fuck, Jim, I don't even care 'bout making it on time, I just want to get you somewhere where you won't have to watch my worthless ass anymore."

"...But you have a _nice_ ass, why would I want to stop watching it?" The words just slipped out before Jim could put a mental filter on them. He continued on regardless. "I told you, I've been enjoying myself. I'm getting somewhere new. There's a lot I can do in California." Jim still wondered how someone so afraid of space was going to do in Starfleet. Hopefully they would put McCoy in a lab, in a medical clinic, doing what he should do.

But McCoy still wasn't having any of it. The little bit of evening light was dying with each minute, but the look of anger and concern on his face was right out there for Jim to see. Still breathing hard, he walked over to where Jim was standing and got close again, too close, almost pressing Jim back into the rock. They stood there staring at each other, wet and shirtless, and just when it looked like nothing was going to happen, McCoy touched Jim's chin, letting out a small breath as he leaned in, closed his eyes, and pressed their mouths together.

It was far from the first time Jim had kissed someone, equally as far from the first time someone had kissed him, but it was the first time someone had taken him by such _surprise_ with a kiss. Jim was keenly aware of every place their bodies touched _chestlipschinthighs_. It was only instinct to bring his hands up, sliding them against wet skin until they met at the small of McCoy's back. Jim's eyes fell shut and he kissed back, taking control of the almost frantic kiss. McCoy's hands were holding Jim's head, cradling it carefully despite the roughness of the kiss, the scratchy feeling of his stubble against Jim's skin almost painful.

Another flash of lightning lit up the cave and they could see each other's faces for just a split second, looking at each other with hungry looks until the thunder shook again. They jumped a little, pulling each other closer, crashing their mouths together again almost desperately. McCoy groaned, his hands sliding into Jim's hair, pulling it back and exposing his neck as his mouth moved down and began biting at Jim's throat.

Fuck, McCoy was going at him like a man hungry for it. Jim wondered just how long it had been, if McCoy had been getting any from his wife long before the divorce. He wondered if McCoy had ever even been with another man; the doctor certainly wasn't hesitating or clumsy about it. Jim was sure he was going to have stubble-burn in the morning along with the faint burn from the wind and rain, but he tilted his head back anyway, giving McCoy what he wanted. His hands slid down a little further and copped a feel of that tight ass, squeezing firmly. How far would McCoy go? Did he want to go?

There was a shock of lightning across the sky, and the thunder shook the rock around them. It made Jim shudder with the sheer power of it and he heard McCoy's breath catch at the sound echoing in the cave around them; the storm had to be right on top of them. McCoy's fingers scraped down Jim's back and grasped at his ass, bringing their bodies together as he murmured a noise against the roughened skin of his throat. He pulled at Jim's blue jeans, unbuttoning them, tugging until his fingers slid inside and curled around Jim's cock.

Well, that was how far McCoy wanted to go, then. Jim groaned low in the back of his throat and he scraped his nails against McCoy's back. "You're fucking hungry for it," he growled the words out, turned on by the doctor's aggression. "Anything you want, baby, and you'll have it." The affectionate term just fell from his lips noticed as he rocked forward into McCoy's calloused hand.

The words just seemed to spur the doctor on, urging him to push Jim into the wall, press against him as he found Jim's mouth again. This kiss was deeper, wetter, McCoy's free hand holding Jim's head steady as they moved against each other. "Need you," McCoy murmured against skin, groaning as his fingers loosened their grip on Jim's cock and slid further down. Cupping his balls, McCoy's fingers teased and touched as far back as he could, his body trying to keep Jim from losing his balance. "Need _this_."

Jim couldn't help the sound that left him, spreading his legs further apart and letting McCoy do what he would. He brought a hand around and felt with his thumb until he found the button of the fly, undoing it and the zip with a quick motion. He didn't bother wasting time, sliding his hand in and shivering because he touched raw heat; McCoy wasn't wearing anything beneath those jeans. "You'll have it." Jim moved his head to bite firmly on McCoy's collarbone, rocking again. "Gonna suck you off until I hear you growl my name again, then you're going to fuck me until I can barely sit tomorrow. How's that sound?" A low, rumbling, teasing tone to his voice that echoed quietly off the walls of the cave.

Thunder boomed around them as they rubbed against each other, fucking each other's hand. "Shit, Jim," McCoy moaned, holding onto Jim's cock like it belonged to him. He pulled at his own wet denim, kicking it down around his ankles. His eyes were closed, mouth slightly open as he breathed into Jim. He had a look like he might have been dreaming as he began pushing on Jim's head, forcing him downward. "...Fuck."

Jim took it in easy stride, kneeling down with only a bare groan at the loss of McCoy's hand around him. He distracted his cock from that loss by nosing into the one he held in his hand, rubbing his cheek along the length of it in a cat-like manner. "Gonna make you feel so good..." He took McCoy into his mouth, one long suck until he had a comfortable feel for the flesh pressing against the back of his throat. He could hear McCoy above him, breathing heavy and loud. The doctor braced himself against the rock with one outstretched arm, the other hand tangled in Jim's hair, and with a strangled groan began fucking Jim's mouth slow and deep. That groan made Jim's cock throb between his thighs, and he sucked that much harder before he pulled his head back.

He let his gaze drift up towards McCoy, watching the other man's face as Jim curled his tongue around the glans, taking a deep breath in on the scent of warmth, male, and McCoy. His tongue followed the natural path down a thick vein along the underside, down to where he could nose at the very base. McCoy was making noise again, not words, but Jim could understand them nonetheless - sounds of need and want and desire and _yesfuckgodmore_. The wind was picking up, storm blowing loud outside their cave but all they knew in the whole world at that moment was each other.

McCoy's knees were bending slightly, his entire body focused on the slide of his cock inside Jim's mouth, and he threw his head back, groaning. Both hands found Jim's head and McCoy pumped twice more before pulling back and out with a growl. He stood over Jim for a moment, his outline throwing shadows down making his face hard to see in the dark. McCoy grasped his cock in his hand and squeezed it a few times. "Take off your jeans."

Jim let out a shaking breath; that had been hot, hot enough that he would have let McCoy finish in his mouth. Still, that command... it wasn't one to be disobeyed. _Doctor's orders_. Jim twisted to pull off his wet jeans and let them drop to a sodden puddle of denim beside them, licking cock, stomach, chest, then neck as he stood up. "How..." he breathed it out as he moved up to McCoy's ear, "how do you want me?"

Up close, despite the darkness, Jim could see McCoy's eyes were blazing. The doctor's hands slid down on Jim's shoulders, down his arms, across the pectoral muscles of his chest, pinching at a hard nipple. The pinch made Jim gasp more loudly than he would have liked to admit. All of a sudden McCoy spoke. "Hands and knees," he murmured, hands moving back up Jim's chest to circle his throat, bring their faces together for another kiss. Instead of the slightly unsure, sort of fumbling man Jim had come to know over the last few days, this was someone completely different. Someone who took charge, who was in control of himself and the situation.

Jim panted when the kiss parted, staring into those wild eyes. He stretched once before he slid down to his knees, turning around and presenting himself with a hungry look over his shoulder. Almost immediately he felt fingertips on his back, pressing into his muscles, tracing the long vertebrae up the spine. They were soon followed by kisses, soft lips following the path the fingers had taken then back down, a darting tongue tracing a path down toward his ass. Jim could hear the doctor fiddling with something, then felt a smooth glide between his cheeks, stroking at his entrance, a cool fingertip pressing, then pushing inside him. Lube? Where had McCoy gotten that? Jim was honestly surprised by that, but equally a little thankful. It just felt good to feel McCoy start to open him up, almost being... gentle.

"Fuck yea..." Jim breathed out, head hanging down. The grind of his hips against McCoy's hand was a silent testimony to wanting _more_.

One finger became two, twisting slow, opening and stretching Jim almost methodically, but with care. He could hear McCoy's breathing throughout, reverberating off the walls, matching the pulse of the storm. Each breath was timed with the brushing feeling that Jim could visualize as McCoy was stroking himself, an image that made him groan, and the sudden press of the tip of McCoy's thick cock against his hole made a heavy breath follow. McCoy pushed into him with a soft grunt, stretching him out even further until Jim had to support himself better on his hands and lean back against it. Yes.

McCoy was fucking him slow. One hand rested on Jim's back, steadying himself as McCoy's hips pistoned back and forth, sliding deeper and deeper inside him with each stroke. A broad hand kneaded at Jim's muscular ass, and as Jim listened the breathing turned into panting. McCoy began fucking him harder, each thrust picking up speed and rhythm. He seemed to know exactly what he needed, or just needed it as badly as Jim did. McCoy leaned over Jim's body, covering it with his own as he pushed in harder, as far as he could go. His forehead pressed into Jim's shoulder, and Jim could feel McCoy's warm breath against the back of his neck with every rough stroke.

Then McCoy pulled back, pulled out, all the way from Jim. It brought on a sound that was definitely _not_ a whimper, but before Jim could even turn his head around to see what was going on, there was a mouth by his ear. "Lay on your back," a shaky voice whispered. The voice sent a rolling shudder down Jim's spine, caressing every place that hands couldn't, as McCoy's honey drawl got deeper with his desire, thickening until it spread across him.

McCoy hooked an arm under Jim's knee as Jim turned over, who ignored the press of rocks into his spine, and arched up with a low gasp as McCoy pushed inside him again. McCoy's shaky moan was right by his ear as he pressed in even further, deep enough that Jim found himself grasping at anything on the ground, anything that would give him something to hold onto. His palms finally ended up splayed against the wall, keeping his head from hitting the wall.

When Jim opened his eyes, he found himself staring up at McCoy. The handsome face hung over his, dark eyes nearly black pits in the darkness of the cave. Their eyes locked as they fucked, staring into each other not like strangers, but something different. Something more...

McCoy was holding himself up with one arm, then on one elbow, keeping a fast pace. "Touch yourself," he whispered into Jim's ear. Jim quickly did just that, wrapping his fingers around his own aching cock and stroking himself. A moan bubbled out of him, asking McCoy for more without words. McCoy seemed to understand, as he pulled Jim higher onto his hips, found a new angle, and began pumping furiously. Jim arched into each thrust, eyes falling shut as he felt himself drawing close faster than he would have liked. His other hand abandoned the ground and came up to claw at McCoy's shoulder, leaving behind a pink scrape of nails on the wet skin, and he felt more than heard the bellow of a sound that left McCoy with the flare of pain.

Jim came harder than he remembered in a long while, the sound of it echoing loud off the stone walls until it pressed back against his ears. The heat of his release was a shock from the chill of the rain water drying on their skins, even a shock compared to the heat between their bodies. It smeared between his still stroking hand and his stomach, his body rippling down and against McCoy's. He wanted to feel it, hear the doctor growl into his ear as he came.

It didn't take long. A few more wild thrusts, fingers digging into Jim's skin so hard it would bruise, and McCoy shuddered. A loud cry, something that sounded torn from somewhere deep inside the older man, moaned into Jim's ear, and then there was nothing but the sound of their breathing and the fall of rain outside. A moment later McCoy stirred, life returning to him as if he suddenly realized how uncomfortable Jim must be, and he rolled over to one side to pull Jim closer onto him. They tucked in together perfectly, and McCoy's lips brushed Jim's forehead, cheeks, and mouth almost reverently before wrapping his arms tightly around Jim.

Jim was both completely sedated and wide awake. He usually chose not to sleep with his partners, chose to pull away while they slept and leave them for the morning, chose to break away clean and free from the awkward tendrils that entwined two people that became so intimate together. But McCoy? There was something in him couldn't do that right now, with McCoy falling asleep in the warmth of his body. The man was obviously desperately lonely in many senses, seen in every tender touch that two strangers who wanted some fun didn't give to each other. Even stranger to touches. It wasn't like no one had ever tried it before, but there was something about McCoy...

He tucked his head in against McCoy's shoulder, closing his eyes. It was warmer there, anyway. It would let him think for a little while, even if he didn't want to.

After all, he'd be alone again tomorrow night, and so would McCoy.

McCoy didn't seem to be having any trouble sleeping, Jim grumbled in his own thoughts, evidenced by the gentle snores coming from his direction. Didn't make much sense, the affection that seemed to pour out of the bitter doctor after being so stand-offish. Didn't seem so distant now, the way McCoy was holding Jim like he would drown in the rain.

The storm began to ease up, though the rain kept falling with its own rhythm. An hour passed, maybe two- hard to tell in the dark and quiet, before McCoy stirred again and interrupted Jim's slow moving train of thought. Large hands were sliding up and down Jim's side, moving slow across his back, resting on his ass. Jim couldn't help the faint smirk on his lips as he felt a slight grind against his thigh. He flexed his body, pressing back into McCoy's hands, then lifted his head enough to murmur against McCoy's ear, "Mm... want more, Len? Gotta tell me what you want..." It was barely above a whisper, just quiet and urging while McCoy was coming out of his nap. The air around them was warm despite the rain, filled with the scent of the storm, the ozone of lightning, the smell of sex. Jim let his own hands feel their way along the doctor's body, across the muscles of a thigh, squeezing at the hip.

But McCoy didn't seem to be talking as much this time, his hands and legs and fingers speaking for him. Jim was right - McCoy wasn't just hungry, he was fucking starving for this sort of intimacy. He rolled Jim onto his back and slipped inside, Jim shuddering and closing his eyes as his body opened up easy for McCoy the second time around. There was an anguished groan from the man inside him, almost an apology as McCoy stroked him, long and slow and deep. McCoy buried his face in Jim's neck, wrapping his arms around him tight, like he wanted to keep Jim's back off the ground. They glided against each other, pushing and pulling in a slow rhythm that was very different from their earlier, hurried coupling. This was languid, kisses wet and tender, McCoy's hands roaming, holding onto Jim like a prized possession, something precious.

Then it stopped, McCoy pulling out again with a shudder. Jim took a wet breath and opened his eyes, watching McCoy roll off him and laying back to take Jim's place on the ground. The doctor reached for Jim, reached for his hands and guided Jim back on top of him. Jim didn't hesitate to straddle McCoy's thighs, almost amused at the doctor's need to get as much fucking done in as many positions as possible, before reaching down between them and guiding hard flesh back into him. Like this, Jim could bend down over McCoy and mouth across his neck, feeling the fluttering pulse against his tongue. The taste of rain and sweat was a sweet-salt mix in his mouth, urging him to bite down and leave a mark that would last a few days on the good doctor's skin while Starfleet accepted him.

Jim rocked slowly, his body tucked up so each motion was no more than a few inches in either direction. It was easy to lean on his hands, staring down to McCoy's face. Those dark eyes were staring at him, through him, until Jim wanted to ask _Do I know you?_ of the man below him. Why this person, out of so many others from his past? Why would it be this random man from a bar-fight that felt less like a stranger and more like a friend? Whatever it was, it had a hold of both of them, and for the time being it wasn't letting go.

And McCoy wasn't letting go of Jim. Grasping at Jim's hips, he held on, letting Jim ride him, his mouth open as he looked up into Jim's eyes. Fingers slipped up to touch Jim's face again, feather-light on his cheeks, his thumb pulling lightly on Jim's bottom lip before reaching his head up to kiss him. When McCoy came, his eyes fluttered closed and he cried out Jim's name. Jim slowed his movements to a crawl, then stopped, so he could watch every second of it. It urged on the tightness in his own body, enough that he switched to balance on one hand while his freed hand wrapped around himself. He began to rock again, feeling the slick pull of McCoy's cock in him that set every nerve on fire. It matched the faster movement of his hand, half leaning forward as he tried to--

It surprised him when suddenly McCoy's hand slapped his own away. Jim's eyes flashed back open and he looked at the doctor in confusion. McCoy just gave a tired smirk and started to nudge Jim over until their position were once again reversed. Jim groaned when McCoy pulled out of him, body aching with the loss when it was so close, but McCoy more than made up for it. His mouth was suddenly _there_ , heat and friction and wetness against flesh which pulled an almost startled sound of need out of Jim. Jim's head tilted back against the stone, hips coming up. McCoy pressed one hand down on Jim's hips in silent warning, and the other curled two long fingers into Jim's body and immediately went in deep into the opened ring of muscle.

When those fingertips found that spot inside of him, Jim groaned in his chest and rocked into it, feeling McCoy take his cock deep in his throat. The doctor was constantly surprising him, and this was one whole new surprise as McCoy proved he knew what he was doing, the curving of tongue and the tightness of cheeks. It didn't take much more with the dual pleasure-pressure in and on his body before Jim sucked in a breath and let it out as a groan as he came, toes curling almost to the point of pain until it released from his muscles all at once until his eyes shut and he sunk down into the ground.

 

 

Jim's mind came around later, focusing from the warmth of the darkness behind his lids to the reality around him. He was pressed up against McCoy, their legs tangled together, he could still hear the faint pattering of rain in the distance, and the darkness was almost total. He couldn't see anything, they'd have to do something about that later, but he was too content to move. He wondered if McCoy was even awake; his breathing was steady and smooth. Jim brought a hand up so he could feel across the other man's chest, lifting to trace a mindless shape on skin.

There was a quiet grunt, answering Jim's wondering about McCoy being awake. Several questions, comments, answers to silent ponderings came through Jim's head but he went with the question that seemed the easiest of them and maybe the only one he could vocalize. "So, how many times have you done this before?" Maybe not the smoothest choice of question ever.

Another little grunt, this one more like a chuckle. "How many times have I had sex?" McCoy pulled Jim closer, nuzzling into his hair. "Damn, don't tell me it was so bad you have to ask." The tone of his voice betrayed the fact that he knew Jim had enjoyed himself immensely.

Jim just gave a little snort, letting McCoy move him. "Ha ha, so funny," he dead panned, but his voice switched to sarcasm a second later, "I mean, with a guy. Said you divorced and had a kid, I assumed it was from a woman. You know, considering you called her 'wife' and 'mother'."

It was a moment before McCoy answered. "Yeah, she was a woman, the one I was married to." Jim felt McCoy lift his head and could only imagine the doctor looking down at him as if they could see each other. McCoy's eyes would be sort of dancing with a strange light, that same one he had seen a few times over the course of the trip. "You want to know about other people? I mean, yeah, I been with a few guys before. Been a while, but..." He kissed Jim's forehead. "You had fun, right?" McCoy asked, just a tinge of worry creeping into his voice.

"Fuck yea I did," Jim smirked, trying to wipe that worry clean. "Doctors know what they're doing." It was just a light tease.

But McCoy was shaking his head, felt more than seen. "You... you are amazing," he told him, his voice a whisper as he kissed the words into Jim's skin. McCoy was loose and relaxed in a way he hadn't been the entire time they'd known each other. Naked and slightly chilled, wet clothes all over the mine opening, McCoy seemed like he was having the time of his life.

"I know I am," Jim laughed, glad to hear that peace in McCoy's voice as he stretched out against McCoy. The relaxation, the exhaustion, and the contentment were strangely welcomed feelings. He could feel the rumble of laughter in McCoy's chest, strong arms hugging him again, a hand in his hair. Who knew the gruff doctor was so affectionate? None of this made sense.

"You okay, Jim?" McCoy asked, turning on his side. "You sore or anything?" The concern came through clear.

Jim just shook his head, "I'm fine. Don't worry about it." The concern almost made him nervous, enough to close his eyes to retreat to the darkness there instead of the darkness of the cave. Concern was oddly unfamiliar, unsettling. No one treated him like that.

"How 'bout hungry?" McCoy's hand fell from his head to cradle Jim's neck, rubbing it tenderly. "Want something to eat?"

"...Mm mm," a sound of disagreement because Jim was ready to go back to sleep. The hand felt good...

McCoy laughed again. "Alright," he murmured, as if understanding. McCoy rolled over a little and Jim could hear him fumbling in the direction of their bags. Jim realized McCoy must have found one of the thin blankets from Jim's saddle bag because when McCoy rolled back, he covered them both in the familiar material. "...g'night you." Jim just closed his eyes with a little smirk. McCoy was happy, which for now, made him happy.

* * *

  


  


The sun was up early the next morning. All the clouds were gone, leaving nothing but blue skies and bright sunrise in the east. But the first thing Jim noticed when opened his eyes was that he was alone. No warm body, no breathing against his skin. He sat up, blinking against the light as the blanket pooled around his waist. McCoy was gone. His stuff was still there, clothes and bag - but the man himself wasn't anywhere to be seen. Scratching his chest, Jim looked around one more time, wondering at what point he needed to get worried.

Before he could decide on getting up and checking for the doctor, Jim heard the shuffle of gravel and rocks outside, and Jim almost didn't recognize the man who entered the cave and headed towards him.

Wearing a pair of jeans and carrying a small bag, with damp and messy hair, McCoy walked up and gave Jim a warm smile. "Morning." McCoy had shaved, taken days, maybe weeks worth of scruff off his face and somehow that one simple act seemed to drop years off him. The grumpy, bitter doctor was gone and standing there was this fucking good-looking guy with warm eyes and a kind smile. Jim stared in shock, blinking slowly. "...Len?" Just to be sure.

"Yeah, Jim?" McCoy answered, grabbing a still damp t-shirt from the day before and toweling off his head.

Jim wasn't entirely sure what to do. He never had actually stayed 'til morning with someone before. What was he supposed to say to someone he let fuck him? "...You shaved." _Nice, Jim. You sound like an idiot._

McCoy grinned, all sorts of little laugh lines in his face more easily seen. "Yeah," he said again, looking outside in the distance for a moment. "It was time. Besides," he added, grinning as he tucked the shaving kit into his travel bag, "I needed to do it before I got to the Academy. Don't want to look like a train wreck when I go to talk to the captain who found me."

The answer was odd enough to make him laugh, and Jim started to get up, stretching as the blanket fell away from him. "Yea, probably for the best." There was only a faint hint of soreness, which Jim could live with. He watched McCoy's little movements, almost smiling despite himself. The doctor just seemed... happier, like somehow Jim had managed to cure his sadness at least for a little while. _I've got a magical healing ass, or something._ The mental image made him chuckle as he gathered up the blankets, folding them. Then suddenly McCoy was behind him, as if drawn by the chuckle.

"Starving this mornin'," he whispered into Jim's ear, like a secret. "What we got to eat?"

It took an effort to keep from reacting to the sudden voice against his ear. Too much time on the streets where fast reactions were needed to save his life. Instead, Jim just froze up, counting to five in his head before he relaxed. Nothing wrong. "Don't know... should be something left." Came out as calm as he'd hoped, which was a relief.

"You hungry?" McCoy asked, heading over to the saddle bags on the bike. "Looks like we got protein bars, and um, more protein bars. What do you feel like?" he asked, little grin on his face.

"Well, with that amazing selection, I think I'll take... a protein bar." Jim smiled as he walked over, grabbing the bar when it was offered. He leaned against the stone wall as he opened the wrapper, biting into the bar. "Lot of ground to cover... we'll probably get into San Francisco about..." He tried to calculate it in his mind, the distance, the traffic around the city... and winced. "Shit, if we make it there by seventeen hundred it'll be a miracle." But... maybe... it would just call for some not exactly law-biding traffic maneuvering when they got near the big city.

McCoy's face changed to being tight, worried. "Let's see how far we get. If I gotta wait another day, then I gotta wait another day." McCoy didn't have much money left, Jim knew that, and there was a chance they might not take him tomorrow, depending on how hard-ass they wanted to be.

But Jim's mind was already at work. He knew McCoy's circumstances, at least to a point, and he had plans to do something about making sure things turned out right for the doctor. If he couldn't find a way to get McCoy there in time... he'd find out just how hard it was to hack his way into Starfleet. McCoy deserved the chance, more than he gave a shit about staying out from under the law. "Don't worry, I'll make sure it turns out right." It was a promise, spoken in certainty.

It took only a few minutes to pack their things, damp clothes mixing with dry but they didn't have time to care anymore - the sun was up and they needed to make ridiculous time to make it to San Francisco by afternoon. Jim took the first shift, getting them back to the more populated roads, roads he hated driving but ultimately would be easier to reach top speeds. They blazed through the rest of Nevada in a few hours, a straight shot down a highway Jim knew used to be called I-80 a hundred years ago, with McCoy's arms wrapped tight around him. They stopped outside Reno only to use the bathroom and eat what was left of their supplies some time way after lunch should have happened. It was there that they switched off and McCoy took them through the last of Nevada and through into California. He looked worried again, if Jim was any kind of guesser, because he kept catching McCoy looking down to check out the chronometer.

Eventually, Jim poked McCoy. "Let me drive." It had only been an hour since McCoy had taken over, however at a certain point it became obvious that they were behind schedule, the miles not ticking by as fast as the minutes. They switched again, and Jim opened up on the highway, faster and faster until it looked like they might actually have a shot. Jim leaned forward on the cycle and felt McCoy doing the same against his back as they went far beyond the speed limit. When they started to hit traffic, Jim gave McCoy only a quick warning of "Hold on tight."

The last hour was spent zig-zagging through traffic, bolting through small spaces between cars and trucks just trying to get ahead. Jim had a small device built into his cycle that was a product of a certain incident of his childhood learning that checked constantly for the signal put out by the highway and law patrol communication devices, and he could slow down fast when he saw a blip up ahead. Jim knew he was pushing the boundaries on not only his luck in keeping them from wiping out on the road, but the limit of time before he had to take more drastic measures to make sure McCoy would get in tonight.

It took a mixture of helpful, cheerful signs put up by the city and the information McCoy had gotten from Pike to find the Academy. Jim pulled up in front of a building that was as clean cut looking as the cadets of the Academy were supposed to be, tall symbols of the great Starfleet fluttering in the late-afternoon breeze. Same Starfleet that had ended up killing his father, taking everything that had mattered to a child.

Jim came to a stop, looking at the building in silence. "...This is it." His voice quiet.

"Yeah." McCoy looked nervous, fiddling with his hair. He looked wind-blown and sun burned and he needed a shower and so did Jim, but fuck it all, they were here. Jim had gotten him here. "Come inside with me?" McCoy asked, looking over at Jim.

Jim hesitated, staring at the entrance to the building before looking at McCoy. The doctor looked... it didn't matter how the doctor looked. He'd be leaving soon, after all. "...Sure, for a little bit," he relented, tucking the cycle off in the lot and shoving his hands into his pockets. He suddenly felt dirty, unclean.

 

Their footsteps echoed in the empty hallways, most of the doors they passed closed and lights off. McCoy's hands folded in front of him when they approached an office, _'Cpt. Pike, Christopher'_ stenciled neatly outside the door. Jim found a place to sit in one of the chairs, watching McCoy hesitate before pressing the chime next to the door. When it opened, McCoy gave a last look at Jim, a worried smile, then he disappeared inside.

 _Good luck_. It was all Jim could say about that. He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, closed his eyes, and waited. There was nothing else he could do.

Roughly fifteen minutes passed before the door opened again. McCoy exited the door, followed by a tall man in a gray uniform. Something about the man seemed familiar, but Jim couldn't put his finger on it. McCoy was smiling, so at least that was good. "Captain, this is Jim Kirk. Guy I told you about. Jim, this here is Captain Pike." His eyes passed between the two men. "Um, he's the one that found me back home, talked me into signing up," McCoy added.

The Captain was looking at Jim with appraising eyes. "I understand I have you to thank for getting Doctor McCoy here," he said, extending a hand toward Jim.

Jim hesitated, looking up thoughtfully at the older man. Jim took the offered hand, after scrubbing his own once against his jeans, and shook it. "...Couldn't just leave him stranded like that... sir." The respectful term was barely remembered at the end and it fell flat from his tongue without respect behind it. Jim only respected someone who deserved it, not just anyone with a uniform.

He watched Pike get an odd look on his face before the captain looked over to McCoy. "Leonard, you mind if I have a little chat here with Jim?" Pike asked. McCoy looked a bit startled at the question, but nodded and took the seat beside Jim. Jim frowned, watching Pike's eyes. What did the old man want with him? What was he up to? Despite his better judgment, going instead with his curiosity and a bit of instinct, Jim followed Pike into his office. He could feel McCoy's eyes burning into his back before the door shut.

Even though Pike indicated he should, Jim didn't immediately sit down. Instead, he studied the office from where he stood as Pike took a seat behind a large desk. He wanted a feel for the man, someone who saw the genius in McCoy through what Jim had to barely guess was probably an alcoholic cloud when Pike found the doctor. Those grey eyes were piercing, looking through the person and the masks they wore to something that lay beneath, bared and naked. Jim generally hated those sorts of men. In this office though, it spoke of a different man. It wasn't stark and filled with medals and ribbons and plaques like Jim imagined of a captain of Starfleet. Instead, Jim saw a small home away from home. There were pictures on the walls of people, places, animals that had to be pets. Horses and people, including Pike, riding them. The stark desert captured in its beauty at sunrise. One ribbon, Jim was amused to find. It was for a riding championship. The captain must have a strong love for horses.

"I couldn't believe when McCoy told me who you are," Pike broke the silence in the office with that statement, causing Jim to turn around and finally face him. He still chose not to sit down. Not yet.

"... And who am I, Captain Pike?" Jim's voice took on a naturally heavy tone of sarcasm.

"Your father's son." Jim felt his heart pause with that statement, with Pike's slight smile that played about the lips. He tried to keep anything he felt from his face, keeping his expression light as Pike continued, "There was something I admired about your dad... he didn't believe in no-win scenarios."

And neither did his son. Father's son indeed, but not the one that Pike wanted him to be. "He sure learned his lesson." Some of the bitterness of the years couldn't be kept out of that, no matter how hard Jim tried. Maybe he just didn't want to, wanted Pike to hear it.

"Depends on how you define winning. You're here, aren't you?" Jim just gave Pike a look for that, wanting to snap back a response about how it wouldn't have mattered because he wouldn't have been born. There was something in him that _rebelled_ against everything Pike was, that the man stood for. Instead, Pike continued, "That instinct to leap without looking? ...That was his nature, too." Jim watched Pike's eyes move away from his for the first time and to something on the wall. Jim walked over to it, not missing the twist of expression on Pike's face that indicated uncertainty. Jim studied the clump of pictures, wondering what dragged Pike's gaze over here.

"In my opinion, it's something..." Pike was still talking, but Jim phased it out as he caught sight of one particular picture. He reached out, uncaring, and pulled it off the wall to get a better look. It was a young man, with blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. His arm was looped over the shoulders of a far younger Christopher Pike, and both were grinning like fools. _Something he admired_ indeed. "...phaser cannon." Jim vaguely heard behind him from the desk.

He stared down at the picture, at a man that didn't look all that different from himself. Something in him knew, without being told, it was a picture of his father. Pike had not only known his father... but from the positioning, from the casual clothing... they had been friends.

His voice was tighter than he would have liked, but it was easier to throw in a dark laugh with his back to Pike, "...Why are you talking to me?"

"I looked up your file while McCoy was in here. Your aptitude tests were off the charts, and so is your criminal record. What is it... d'you like being the only genius level offender in the mid-west?" Mid-west? Jim's mind struggled to figure out why Pike had said mid-west specifically when Jim realized that in all of those years, he had never bothered to change his home address from Frank's place in Riverside. What was the point in changing it when you never stayed in one place long enough for anyone to care?

So he smirked, almost amused as his eyes closed. "Maybe I love it." The type of answer that infuriated anyone, especially cops. He knew that from too many past experiences that he didn't learn from.

"So your daddy dies and you can settle for a less-than-ordinary life." Jim heard the chair behind the desk creak, and he stood up just as Pike got up close to him, no more than three feet away. His voice was pitched lower, those piercing eyes locked to his. "Or do you feel like you're meant for something better? Something special?" Jim took an unsteady breath, the fierce gaze almost throwing him off as much as the statement itself had. Without knowing it, or maybe the old bastard knew exactly what he was doing, Pike had hit a deep nerve. That something special... Jim could feel the sweat on his palms, and he shifted the picture frame between them.

"Come to think of it," Jim started, a sarcasm in his voice that belayed what he was feeling, "I do want to feel special. You know what?" A smirk came as easily as breathing. "I'm gonna go start a book club--"

"Enlist in Starfleet."

The statement threw Jim completely off guard. He stared at Pike, then _laughed_. What the hell was this guy even talking about? Did Pike seriously think he would? "Enlist? You must be way down on your recruiting quota for the month--"

But Pike cut off that with a voice as sharp as a blade, "If you're half the man your father was, Jim, Starfleet could use you. You could be an officer in four years, have your own ship in eight." Pike seemed to know every damn thing that could get under his skin, pulling him apart and making him _think_ on something he had made a choice about a long, long time ago. That rebellion in Jim only came on stronger with the push of authority, with that voice of choice, that tone of possible destiny that could be in his hands. He made his own choices.

Jim turned on his heel, walking towards the door. He let the picture frame slip from his hands onto the seat of one of the chairs in front of the desk, but the image stayed framed in his mind. "We're done, right? I can go."

But as Jim started towards the door, Pike grabbed his arm. Even as his muscles flexed, wanting to toss the Captain's hand from him, Jim met those eyes and they froze him on the spot. "...Your father was captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives, including your mother's. Including yours. I dare you to do better."

The hand released him, but it was the eyes that kept Jim from moving just a few heart beats longer. When Pike turned away from him, Jim didn't hesitate to leave the office with barely even a pause to let the doors part for him. He didn't stop until he was in front of McCoy, and he only turned his head to glance at the man he had brought partway across the country, had shared far more than a cycle with. "...I should get going." Jim mentally cursed the tightness in his voice, but Pike's words, his actions, had steeled up a wall inside of him. It kept out what he didn't want, kept him his own _man_. Away from any ties that caused everything to go wrong in the past.

Jim kept walking, back along the path towards the exit of the building.

McCoy was following him. "Hey, Jim-" he called out, almost at a jog. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The lie was a familiar one, "I just don't like stuffed shirts thinking they know me better than I know myself."

McCoy's face was a mixture of confusion, concern, and affection. "You want to talk about it?" he asked, getting in between Jim and the door.

Having McCoy block his path, stop him, made Jim's eyes narrow. It was a stupid, irrational anger that burned through him after the conversation with Pike, but as he met McCoy's eyes he felt it fade away into something harder and more bitter inside of him. What did Pike think he knew... "No, not really." Which was the truth. He stopped there in front of the door, staring at McCoy.

"Look," McCoy said, reaching an arm out to Jim, not touching him, but almost. "It’s too late for me to get into the dorms tonight, offices are all closed," he said, looking over in the direction of the apartment-like buildings. "Pike offered me his couch tonight. Why don’t you stick around?"

A slow breath out. Like hell he was going to take a handout from Pike. "...I really don't want to sleep on some old man's couch," Jim said tightly, his eyes focused on that out-stretched hand. "Just going to find somewhere for the night and head out in the morning." He couldn't stay, not like this.

"That's okay," McCoy said, nodding, dropping his hand to the side with a sigh. "Then we’ll go find something else, go sleep in the park or somethin’." A shy smile, something genuine and real. His voice dropped to a near whisper. "I’m just not ready to let go of you yet."

The statement made Jim start, and the anger fell away in an instant as he looked at McCoy in confusion. ...What? What did that mean? They were _here_. He had gotten McCoy to his destination, McCoy had held up his end of the deal. Why did the doctor still want him around? Especially when he had an offer of a warm, at least semi-comfortable place for the night?

...That smile... "You..." For once, words didn't leap to his lips. His voice was unsure instead of his normal, confident tone. "You sure?"

"Yeah," McCoy grinned. "Fuck yeah, let's go find some cheap food and a place to bed down. We can just talk, if you want, just..." McCoy laughed again. "I don't know what's going on, just that I don't want it to be over yet."

Jim wasn't entirely sure what to say to that, so instead he just gave a little smile. "Good, cuz you'll be pulling a paycheck at some point." It was meant to lighten, to tease, and he hoped it got at least some of that through. "Come on then, _Cadet_. I know a place we can go." It definitely wasn't his first time in San Francisco; the city's draws were just too strong not to have seen at some point. Just avoided it, though he wouldn't have admitted to avoiding it, because of... well, something basically just like this. Starfleet.

Least he had someone to enjoy it with, for the night.

"Gimme a second," McCoy told him, jogging back to say a few words to Pike, who was leaving the building. The captain looked back over at Jim, then back at McCoy, telling him a few more words before they shook hands and parted. "Okay, I know where I gotta be in the morning. Where we headed?" he asked, eyes dancing.

"They going to put you through the paperwork paces come morning?" Jim teased, feeling a little better. He stepped past McCoy and nudged their shoulders together. "I know a little place. Come on." He went out to his cycle and slipped onto the vehicle. There was something natural to the feeling of McCoy getting on behind him, bodies used to the arrangement after days of travel.

 

Jim showed McCoy what he knew of San Francisco, pointing and talking from the back of the cycle. He knew the underside of the city a little, despite mostly avoiding the place altogether, but someone like him had to learn the grimy backside of any city if he wanted to survive in the reality of it. They got cheap Asian food at a dive of a restaurant run by an old couple who knew how to really cook. They avoided the area around the Academy and the Golden Gate Bridge, all the major tourist traps where everything was crowded and expensive. They ended the sight-seeing tour, as Jim amused himself by calling it, in a back-alley bar where the drinks were cheap, not always legal, and the biggest deals in the universe that had both nothing and everything to do with Starfleet were made.

Jim had the bartender mix up two 'special' drinks, ones made with all their glowing orange beauty. The bartender tapped in something at the end, 'the special kick' Jim could remember the man calling it the first time he had found this place. Jim wasn't entirely sure what type of drug it was, but knew it didn't leave him feeling like shit later and didn't come up on scans after 8 hours. Learned that last fact the hard way, unfortunately.

Feeling playful, Jim was inclined not to inform McCoy of exactly what his drink was until he placed the drink into McCoy's hand and grinned. "To your future." Jim held up his glass, tone sarcastic but his eyes warm.

McCoy took the drink and met Jim's eyes, then raised his glass before tilting his head back and slamming it. Jim saw the glass twitch, nearly falling out of McCoy's hand, as the doctor's eyes widened. "Wow." He shook a little, exhaling slow. "Damn, Jim." Neither of them said much else for a while, while the burn of the drink seared their throats and left behind its warmth in their stomachs. This was something he liked about McCoy, about being around McCoy - the doctor didn't feel the need to constantly fill the silence with small talk and noise. They could comfortably be there, no talking needed, and enjoy it. Made it easier to forget that tomorrow it would be over.

"...so you're gonna go out and be some famous doctor, curing diseases..." Jim murmured as he stared thoughtfully at a beer that he was nursing. "All funded by Starfleet. ...Why they making you join the Academy, anyway, if they want what you're already doing?" His brows furrowed at the thought, a frown on his lips. Didn't make much sense.

"Starfleet bullshit," McCoy shrugged. "Being a doctor is one thing. Space is somethin' else entirely. Then there's language classes, comparative governments, basic tenets of the Prime Directive..." McCoy's mouth pursed, as he looked down into his beer chaser. "Hopefully once that shit is over it'll just be Alien A&P and I can just get to work." He let a few moment pass quiet, tapping his fingers against the bar. Every once in a while it looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end seemed to change his mind. Probably better that way, for both of them.

"How many languages do they force you to learn? You know any now?" Jim asked, curiosity perked. He leaned back further in his chair, looking at McCoy in the low light of the bar. Behind them, Jim could hear two men speaking in low tones about a shipment of something or other. "A&P? ...something... and protocol?" Jim hazarded a guess.

"There is some basic medical terminology in the major Federation languages," McCoy replied, laughing, "and I'm goddamn useless when it comes to off-world languages." He took another long drink of the beer, then sighed, looking at it as if realizing they were on a budget and this might be it for the night. He put the bottle on the bar, just holding it. "And no, it's Anatomy and Physiology. Something useful, you know?" He gave Jim a bit of a weary look. "Not like I don't have any experience with those from off-planet, but there ain't a hell of a lot of Klingons in North Georgia."

That made Jim laugh, grinning wide. "If you'll consider that _useful_ ," he teased, leaning on his elbow. "Wish I could help you out..." He could hear his own voice taking on a wistful tone, "I love languages. Can speak a bunch of them." He leaned over suddenly and whispered against McCoy's ear, "Means I got a talented tongue."

McCoy's hand slid to Jim's thigh, his head turning toward him. "Fuck yes, darlin', I know," he whispered, grinning like they were sharing a secret. "Maybe you could remind me some of that later, you think?"

Jim's thigh flexed under McCoy's hand, and he grinned as he turned his head a little more to brush their lips together. "I think I'll show you everything I've got." He could breathe in and taste McCoy's breath. "...Going to show me... everything those hands can do?" He slid his hand over McCoy's, grin turning to smirk. More than a good mouth, a pair of good hands was worth far more. A doctor's should have been the most skilled of all.

"All over you," McCoy spoke into Jim's mouth, that little smile on his face, flushed with probably more than the alcohol. "Everywhere," he added softly, his eyes dancing around Jim's face, his eyes, his mouth, his chest. "You got any idea how good you look?" He immediately laughed again, touching Jim's face with one hand quick before dropping it with a growl. "...Yeah, you know. You know how fuckin' sexy you are, don't ya?"

"Oh, I know. I know..." He reached out to squeeze McCoy's thigh, "Question is... _do you_? Fuck, all down ol' Southern charm and twang..." Jim breathed out against his lips, biting down on the lower one. McCoy made a little noise back, exhaling.

McCoy's hand covered Jim, pressing into his own leg. "Fuck, kid... what are you doing to me?" he murmured, his eyes locked on Jim's like they were the only two people in the bar.

Jim didn't answer with words. He kissed McCoy slow, almost tender except for the hunger in it. The alcohol took away the knowledge that he couldn't keep this (didn't want to, didn't _want_ to, he was on his own) because tomorrow it would shatter like the fragile glass it was, and left him instead with a hunger that stroked his ego and desires. And fuck if McCoy wasn't kissing him back, just as needy, pulling back only when they needed to take a breath.

It was like being drunk. Pressing their foreheads together to steady himself, Jim whispered, "Let's get out of here."

McCoy nodded, dropping his head to nuzzle a little after he was done talking. "C'mon then," he growled in a low voice. He stood and pulled Jim up with him, one hand on Jim's hip as they walked through the dark establishment and out the front door. Once outside McCoy pulled Jim close to him again, another long, slow kiss before moving onto the cycle.

McCoy got the somewhat uncomfortable experience of getting driven around by a not-so-slightly drunk man to find a cheap hotel, but despite their inebriation, they managed to book the room and get into it without killing themselves. Jim didn't waste any time, and as soon as the door shut he pressed McCoy up against it. Jim eased his lips over McCoy's, his hand going to the back of the doctor's neck and squeezing the thick muscle of it. His mind spun, just a little, and something in the pit of his stomach almost giddily wondered what the doctor had in mind.

The first thing seemed to be removing Jim's shirt, the thin cotton tee quickly pulled over Jim's head as McCoy's mouth moved from one side of his neck to the other, tasting and licking at the roughened skin. The doctor's hands were soon on his ass, pulling their groins together so Jim could feel that gorgeous thick cock through just a few layers of denim, leaving no doubt how aroused McCoy was. Those skilled hands moved to the front, and began pulling at the snaps of Jim's jeans. "Bed," he growled low in Jim's ears as his fingers pulled down the zipper, darting inside. "Want you in a fuckin' bed tonight."

"You'll have me, promise... all over that bed..." Jim groaned at that deep voice in his ear, rocking slowly against the doctor's hand. He was getting hard fast, and those long fingered hands were a huge encouragement. "Long as you keep talkin' just like that."

"Hell yeah," McCoy murmured into Jim's ear, "I'll tell ya anything you wanna hear." McCoy let out a groan when his fingers wrapped around Jim's cock and he bit down on his collarbone, pulling back lightly with his teeth. "You feel so good, you know that? Fucking perfect in my hands." He began pulling Jim toward the bed, stopping only when the back of his knees hit the mattress. McCoy sat down, looking up at Jim as he mouthed his bare chest.

"You've got me all night, Len..." The doctor was almost desperate with it. "Shh..." Jim tilted McCoy's head so he could slide their lips together, closing his eyes. He'd make sure McCoy had something to hold onto just long enough for some lucky _cadet_ to catch him. But for now, just for tonight it was them, together on that double bed in a cheap motel room. Them, kissing and touching and tasting and breathing each others' scent. The rest of their clothes were quickly discarded, and soon it was them, naked bodies sliding between the thin sheets. Jim rocked against McCoy as he tasted every bit of the doctor's skin, sometimes his lips catching on the faintest five o'clock shadow on McCoy's jawline, sometimes the edge of his nose finding the rounded edge of a muscle, sometimes biting lightly to get a reaction.

He found himself buried between those strong legs, nosing at the heavy sac up to the base of his cock, mouthing there without giving enough friction. Jim had every concept in his head of making McCoy beg for it until the need to fuck him went down to the doctor's very bones. McCoy was spreading his legs as wide as he could, lifting his hips into Jim's face yet still, was denied real satisfaction. "Goddammit Jim," he groaned, his fingers threading through Jim's hair, trying to guide Jim's head onto his aching cock.

"You know, something tells me you want something more," Jim's voice was all liquid tease, his eyes playful as he gave a lick up the length of McCoy's cock. "Can't imagine what it could be since you're not telling me..."

At that, McCoy's fingers tightened in Jim's hair, lifting his head slightly as he grasped at his own cock. "How 'bout I show you?" he told Jim, giving his shaft a quick pump before brushing it across Jim's lips, parting them slightly with his cockhead. "You like that?"

The heat of Jim's tongue lapped once at the tip of the head as it got within distance, Jim giving a positive, pleased sound in response to McCoy's question. It was incredibly erotic, staring up at the doctor's face and not looking away as his head was used, and McCoy was looking back at him with something between affection and adoration like he couldn't believe he was here with Jim. Like he didn't deserve this amazing creature between his legs.

And as he pushed his cock slowly into Jim's mouth, McCoy shuddered and flushed, and Jim could feel the rumble of his satisfaction. Jim shifted up enough to have his elbows bracing his upper torso up, and he took it in as far as he could until his nose brushed dark curled hair. He gave a swallow, careful of the sensation, then gave the smallest bob of his head. It was letting McCoy control it, if the doctor took the opportunity. Then it was just the push and pull of sex, the heavy scent in his nose and mouth, the tiny half-heard curses in his ears that kept Jim going, never giving in fully while letting McCoy build himself up. Jim wanted McCoy to last, wanted to wake the doctor up in a few hours and do it all again. It was the easiest way for two people to talk without ever saying a single word, touches of the hands that both spoke the truth and lied in language spoken with the fingers. Of all the languages Jim could speak, it was the one he spoke the most naturally, born to do it.

Jim was quickly finding that when it came to McCoy, it was the language the both of them spoke where they could actually understand each other.

It was hard to tell if McCoy was holding back or not. Judging from the sounds he was making, the way his fingers were pressing deep into Jim's scalp it seemed as if he was going for broke, then all of a sudden he'd pull back, groaning and throwing his head back, only to resume the upward thrusts a moment later, fucking Jim's mouth slow and deep. After a while he looked down at Jim, eyes wide and locked on Jim's face, breathing hard. "Not gonna be able to stop soon, you keep that up."

Well, he couldn't let that happen. Jim licked his lips as he pulled his head back, lips parted. "...You got two options," a little smirk, pleased, as he recalled his words from earlier. "Can get you off right now, let you come in my throat and lick you clean... or you'll gonna have to show me where that lube is so I can get fucked nice and deep."

McCoy shivered visibly with those words, the grin on his face as wide as Jim had ever seen. "How 'bout this," he drawled, sitting up on his elbows, looking down his stomach at Jim settled between his legs. "How 'bout you keep that up, with that damned mouth of yours, and then I'll show _you_ where the lube is so you can fuck _me_ nice and deep."

A quick breath in from Jim would have told McCoy everything. His lips spread into a huge grin and he leaned forward to press their lips together. "I'll make you feel so good." Just a quiet promise, feeling himself throb between his thighs. "Show me where the lube is now, and I'll make sure you're ready to beg for it."

"I got it." McCoy slid out from under Jim long enough to grab a little tube of ointment from his medical kit and put it in Jim's hand, reaching up to cup Jim's cheek with the other hand. McCoy was looking at him, darkened eyes searing into him, asking a hundred questions without saying a word. He brought their lips together for another heated, wet kiss before he leaned back on the bed, scooting back up on the mattress to give Jim room.

Jim let out a breath, wondering if McCoy had found the answers he was looking for. He opened up the lube but didn't immediately put it on his fingers. Instead, he got comfortable again and took McCoy back into his mouth, actions less deliberate and more to establish what had been happening before the lube was needed. It wasn't until he felt McCoy getting back into it with tiny motions of his hips, eyes closing, that Jim squeezed some of the lube out and rubbed the tip of his index finger against tight flesh to encourage it to relax. Something told him to take it slow with McCoy, nice and easy, that it had probably been a while for the other man since anyone had taken him. One finger became two, stretching him with a deliberate slowness, listening as McCoy grunted and cursed with each twist of his hand, distracting the doctor with his mouth.

But before long, McCoy was there again, groaning and panting and grabbing at Jim's head and shoulders. "...Jim, can't stop-" and he shook, his body clenching around Jim's fingers. Jim got all the good luck in the world to watch every expression on the doctor's face as he came. When it was over, McCoy sprawled on the mattress, sated and breathing heavily. The hand in Jim's hair continued to play with the strands as McCoy laid there, eyes still closed. Jim knew it'd be a little while for the doctor, so he took enough time to get a towel from the bathroom and wipe his hand clean before laying back down. McCoy would stay loose and lubed at least, but Jim could barely wait. He slid a hand down between his legs and squeezed himself, sighing against McCoy where he laid. It'd feel so good to slide into him; he was already betting just from what he could feel that McCoy would be _tight_.

They turned toward each other and kissed again. McCoy was moving slow and lazy against Jim, looking content as he rubbed his legs against Jim's. His hand slid to Jim's cock, joining Jim's fingers to stroke him. He was watching Jim again, that look in his eyes asking Jim for more. Jim just smirked, a little. "Soon." He wanted McCoy to recover, at least a little, before he took the doctor. His head fell back, rolling his hips into their interlaced fingers.

McCoy seemed to be coming back to life, his mouth finding Jim's neck again as he gripped Jim's cock. He was licking at the thin skin at the throat, tasting the skin like it was dinner, biting lightly and pulling back with his teeth until Jim groaned aloud. "You taste so good, you know that?" McCoy murmured, licking at the slightly bitten skin. He pressed his flaccid cock against Jim's hip and groaned. "Damn, you got me acting like a kid here."

"Good, cuz you're not an old man yet," Jim teased, head tilted back so McCoy's teeth could do what they wanted. He was going to have bruises, that was for sure, because most of those bites were nothing gentle. He turned his hand so he could rub his thumb against McCoy's wrist, groaning quietly.

"Felt old. You changed that." McCoy was speaking into Jim's skin, so softly it was hard to hear his words clearly. He was rubbing against Jim's hip, his breath catching as he spoke. "Want you so much."

 _Changed that_. It was a weird statement, striking closer to home than McCoy probably realized. Jim let out a breath and he shifted, sliding one of his hands under the doctor's thigh so he could pick up his leg and hook it over his elbow to keep it up. He turned McCoy over and moved up behind him so he could bite gently on the back of the other man's neck. Jim reached down, squeezing himself again to take the edge off, before nudging himself against McCoy's entrance. "Just relax for me..." A quiet murmur before he bit down again, slowly pressing in. He had been right. McCoy was tight, enough to make him groan hard against skin that still smelled of Georgia sun.

"...fuck," McCoy groaned, leaning back against Jim. His hands gripped the sheets tight, clawing as Jim filled him, sliding in completely until his balls pressed against firm muscle. The muscles in McCoy's back quivered when Jim touched him and he pressed his head into the pillow. Jim felt himself shaking as he stroked McCoy's chest, brushed over his abdomen, and curled his fingers around still flaccid flesh and gave a little stroke.

"Come on, just relax..." McCoy's body had him like a vice, almost painful, but Jim distracted both of them with small touches, tasting each inch of skin he could get at along the doctor's shoulder, neck, and ear. "Just me, just Jim..." The words came out without much thought behind them, used more for the tone than the meaning of the words themselves. Jim's voice was pitched low, quiet, and had a tone almost like desperation. He wanted to _move_ , but shit. Jim wanted, needed McCoy to enjoy this. If his partner didn't, he didn't.

Then McCoy pushed back against Jim, his hips shifting, encouraging that small movement. One of his hands slipped down to Jim's hip and he grasped at the warm skin. "Do it." It was another quiet voice, asking, imploring. Wanting to feel all of it, willing his body to relax. Jim didn't need any other encouragement. He rocked his hips once, getting a feel for the position. He slid his hand up higher, pulling McCoy's knee upward just that bit more for a better angle, and gave another shallow thrust. He moved in short strokes, urging McCoy's body to loosen up. Jim buried his face at the back of McCoy's neck as he fucked the doctor slow.

"Touch yourself," Jim murmured, wishing he could see McCoy doing it. Instead, he listened for the quiet hitch of breath that told him the doctor had done just that, heard as each breath became more erratic instead of matching his thrusting. Soon he could feel the movement, small but strong tugs that rocked McCoy's body against Jim's rhythmic motions. He imagined McCoy's eyes were closed, his mouth parted slightly. Long fingers would be curled around his thick cock, his thumb flicking over the head, probably still sensitive from his first orgasm. The images alone made Jim moan quietly, speeding up his thrusts into the body against his. His hand tightened where it was tucked under McCoy's thigh, turning his head enough to nip hard enough to leave behind a bruise then sucking on the skin to make it stick. A small visual reminder to match the bite-bruise on McCoy's shoulder.

There was a hiss at the bite, McCoy growling just a little as Jim's teeth left their mark. He was moving under Jim, unable to keep still, grinding into his hand and back against Jim's slow thrusts. Their movements were fluid, more graceful than fucking should have been, and didn't stop even as McCoy lifted himself up on one elbow and turned his head toward Jim, looking for his mouth. Jim tilted his head to catch McCoy's lips, breathing hard through his nose as he kissed the doctor back as if hungry for it. He knew he was getting close, could feel himself drawing up and threatening to end it. He tugged on McCoy's lower lip before setting his forehead against the other man's temple, panting as his motions became more erratic.

"Fuck, Jim..." McCoy was groaning as the kiss ended, holding himself up by his elbows as his body was driven forward by deeper thrusts. He reached for one of Jim's hands and grabbed it tight, bruising force as he tightened his fingers around Jim's. The positioning was awkward and Jim groaned as pain mixed together with pleasure. He pressed his face against McCoy's shoulder as he finally came, gasping wetly against the hot skin and staining it with his breath, pressing himself deep into McCoy until the world ended and began in the same place.

Jim came back down, eyes staying closed as he just breathed, holding onto McCoy in every way that he could. Their fingers laced together as McCoy stirred, still laying contentedly under Jim. He made a quiet sound before finally speaking, his face half-pressed into his pillow. "...Was amazing."

That brought a small smile to Jim's face. "Mmm mmm..." He just let himself drift for a little bit, nails scratching lightly against McCoy's stomach before a thought, a real one, floated to the surface. "...You come?" Jim muttered.

McCoy shifted at the touch, chuckling. "Stop that," he laughed some more, then shook his head. "Nah, too wrung out from before." A few seconds passed before he grinned, cracking an eye open. "How 'bout you?"

"Ya think?" Jim gave a quiet, tired laugh, but kept up the motions of his fingers. He could feel the minute flexing of muscles there... oh ho? Jim grinned. Was McCoy ticklish? Apparently so, from the way he was arching, backing away from the touch.

One of McCoy's hands reached for Jim's, trying to stop him. "Cut it out, Jim," he laughed, rolling onto his side.

Jim just gave McCoy a sly yet somehow sheepish grin, "What, I wasn't doing anything?" It occurred to him, laying there _laughing_ with McCoy, still reeking and covered in sex, that he couldn't remember the last time... or... any time... he had felt so comfortable with someone. Like he had known McCoy far long than a few days. How was the doc getting under his skin? McCoy seemed comfortable enough, tucking Jim under his arm and pulling him close, amazing how they fit together so well.

And not just physically. They both liked the quiet - there was no need to make small talk. The silence was friendly rather than worrisome, and when it was broken, it was by McCoy who took a deep breath and slapped Jim's hip. "We should shower."

"No." Jim's smirk came through in his voice. "Comfortable." He stretched out, but did let McCoy get up if he so wanted.

"Brat." McCoy nosed at his throat. "Been almost two days and a thousand miles since I had a shower, and I'm takin' one before I fall asleep here." He pulled back, stretching his arms over his head. "You sure?" he asked, his face half-hidden in the dark as he took a few steps toward the bathroom.

"Doctor Cock Tease," Jim grumbled without any anger, smiling just a little as he got up, stretching out some kinks from his body before he followed McCoy into the bathroom. His mind was already conjuring up plans to make sure that McCoy was fully taken care of.

It didn't take long for the bathroom to get warm and steamy while McCoy pulled Jim into the small shower with him. McCoy twisted, popping his back with a groan as the hot water hit him. "Damn, that's what I needed." Jim smirked as he watched McCoy act in the hot water like a cat in the sun, stretching out to his fullest and enjoying it. He leaned back against the wall of the shower, watching in his amusement and waiting for the doctor to give up the water. "I know you like that bike of yours," McCoy grumbled, pulling Jim close to him, and under the spray of the water, "but my back is killing me. Don't know how you travel like that all the time."

"Probably 'cause I'm used to it," Jim reminded him, letting the doctor pull him close. "After years, I don't even notice or have to stop that often." He bent his head so he could mouth against McCoy's jawline, smirking. "...Already got a five o'clock shadow there, doc."

McCoy laughed. "Yeah, that happens sometimes," he scratched at his face, "and I'm glad you're used to it. Me, I got this ache in my bones, from just three days on the cycle with you." He picked up the soap, turned Jim around so he was facing the opposite way, and began washing Jim's back. "Don't know how long its gonna take to get rid of."

"Wait," Jim said as if he was shocked, "you mean I didn't manage to rattle those old bones of yours enough to shake out all that ache?" He couldn't help the teasing, it just came naturally. The sarcasm flowed off his tongue easier than gentle words when he was even the slightest bit unsure of himself.

"Not yet you haven't," McCoy retorted, kissing the back of his neck. "Maybe another round later, though, that might do it." He lathered up Jim's hair and began rubbing at the scalp. "You know, Jim, doesn't have to end yet."

The statement made Jim tense up, and he tilted his head so he could see McCoy's face from the corner of his eye. "...What?" Tone quiet under the sound of the shower.

"This, you and me." McCoy turned Jim back around so they were facing each other. He held his head back into the stream of water, gently washing the soap out, not quite looking into Jim's eyes as he spoke. "San Francisco's a big place. Lots to do here." His eyes darted around Jim's face before finally looking him in the eye. "You don't have to leave yet."

The words tightened like a noose around Jim's heart. He met McCoy's dark eyes, cursed silently how they always seemed to be staring right into the depths of him specially when the doctor was wearing that one particular look. The shower seemed to fall silent around them, though Jim could still feel the beat of the water against his arms and shoulders. McCoy treated him like something special, like he was _worth_ something, but at the same time treated him like a normal human being.

Jim swallowed to work up some wetness in his throat to speak. "Dunno," the first word was weak, quiet, but Jim forced the rest of the sentence to come out stronger, "have to see if there's something in this city that'll keep me here."

McCoy nodded his head. "Right." His lips curled into a little smile. "Still, something to think 'bout." Somehow the man managed to look sad and hopeful at the same time. His fingers were combing through Jim's wet hair now, tugging it back so they were looking at each other. "Just- think about it," he murmured before leaning in for a kiss, the spray of the water hitting both of them. Jim let the kiss happen, even encouraged it by bringing his hands up to cup McCoy's cheeks.

Despite his attempts to not think about McCoy's suggestion at all, it stayed worrying at the back of his mind.

"Come on, Mr. Old Bones.. turn around and I'll get your back," Jim finally said, teasing because it was easier than continuing that line of conversation.

McCoy pressed against Jim, leaning him against the cool tile. "Damn, you don't gotta call me old, Jim," he muttered, nuzzling into his hair.

Jim was silent for a second, then he grinned. "Okay then, Bones it is," he said instead, laughing as he nudged McCoy off him and urged him to turn around, giving a squeeze to both of his shoulders and rubbing his palms into the muscle to make up for his teasing.

"Don't call me that, either," McCoy gruffed, though the look in his eyes was fond. He lifted his arms, crossing them and leaned against the tile, giving Jim even more skin to work on. "Fuck, that feels good." Arching his back like a cat, he groaned under Jim's fingers. Jim just smiled as he got to work, ignoring the soap for now to instead start massaging the thick muscle at the base of the neck, the shoulders, and down the back.

Only when Jim got to tease McCoy about the sounds he was making _Bones you sound like an amorous cat_ and received a grumpy _Stop calling me that, brat_ in return did Jim grab for the soap and actually wash the dust and sex off of McCoy. The gentle touches didn't do much to stop those sounds coming out of McCoy, who shuddered and turned, pulling Jim back into his arms for a deep kiss. "I think we're both clean enough, don't you?" he asked, his voice rough from need. He was hard again, nudging at Jim's hip with his erection.

"...Well, a part of you doesn't seem to think so," Jim smirked as he reached down and curved his fingers around McCoy's cock. "This part of you seems to want a whole lot more."

Another grunt at the touch to McCoy's cock. "Just a little more, Jim," he murmured, nuzzling his neck. "That alright?"

"More than alright," Jim murmured back, stroking slowly.

 

Everything was far from alright.

Jim caught only about an hour of sleep before he found himself wide, wide awake. His eyes stared up into the darkness of the ceiling, mind racing with thoughts. The man curled up beside him was dead to the world, tucked up against Jim like twins in the womb. One hand was loose over his chest, and Jim could feel the breath against his neck.

He wondered how that subtle, constant noise hadn't kept him awake. Now it was his own spinning thoughts that did the job instead.

Two people in one day had asked him to stay somewhere, stay in one place. Give up the lifestyle he had known for years. The lifestyle he had built up himself from nothing at all. Every part of him rebelled against the idea of that, brought to mind images of prisons and writing on the wall. Yet McCoy--no, his mind decided to humor him, Bones now, because it frustrated the doctor--had been the one to offer his hand...

Jim sighed and slowly, careful not to wake Bones, shifted out from beside him. Once on the edge of the bed, he froze and looked back to see if the other man would wake. But he didn't wake. Too tired from the day's journey and all they'd done together that night - Bones slept on, not knowing what was happening just a foot away. Instead he rolled over, wrapped his arms around his pillow, and dreamt on.

 _Good. Sleep well, Bones_. Jim reached out, brushing his fingers just once over the dark tousled hair still slightly damp from their long shower. In the morning, Bones would get himself sorted out with Pike, would get into the Academy... and live a good life. Get money to see that little girl of his, save lives. Jim liked the idea of it, and was glad he could make it happen. Least he could fix one person's life.

He stood up silently in the dark room and started to pull on his dirty clothing. He knew he needed to get them washed, needed some new things. Thanks to being with another person on his cycle for the last few days, Jim wasn't sure about his resources in the areas of supplies, food, and credits. It didn't matter, he had made due with nothing in the past when it was necessary, and he could do it now. Jim had ways of making money when he needed it.

Right now, he knew more than anything he couldn't stay here. Couldn't stay where he was so close to this man who kept making him question things, question his life, question _himself._

 _It doesn't matter, you idiot. A few years, and what? He'll be off on some ship, some distant planet, and--_

 _**Stop it** , what the hell am I thinking!? We're not talking years, we're not even talking a week. He just needs someone to take the edge of the pain of that divorce off and get laid, and I gave that to him. He'll get clingy, then find someone and go off with them. That's how it's supposed to work. Needs someone who can be there for him._

 _I'm not that kind of person_. But he had been, once. Circumstance and fate had driven every bit of that out of him.

Jim packed up the last of his things, and looked across the room at the doctor asleep in the bed. He couldn't tell the smile on his face was a sad one instead of a sarcastic one, as he stood there in the dark and watched Bones sleeping peacefully. It would be easier for them both if he left before Bones woke up. Definitely easier for them both, Jim told himself. _I'm a fucking hypocrite._

He left silently, only the soft click of the door to mark his departure.

* * *

The sun woke McCoy up, slow realization of where he was. _Hotel. San Francisco. Jim._ Smiling, he stretched and turned, reaching out to Jim -

And he was alone.

McCoy wandered around the hotel room an hour, waiting to see if maybe Jim was just out running an errand, getting them breakfast or something. But as the minutes passed, the truth dawned on him - Jim was gone. Left without saying goodbye. No note, nothing. Had never planned on staying.

Looking back, it made sense, sort of, but right now as McCoy packed his bag and found a ride to the Academy, all McCoy felt was this empty pit inside him. He rode the shuttle toward the Presidio, the events of the last few days overwhelming him. There was a strange feeling of disbelief in the whole fucking situation. A few months ago he was married and working back home. A few days ago he was in bar in Riverside, Iowa. And now…

Now he was in San Francisco, his home for the next four years, surrounded by fucking children playing soldier. All this change, and yet - his thoughts were centered on the man who was now right now somewhere on a road in California, riding his goddamn motorcycle, riding away from him.

It wasn’t like he really expected Jim to stay, McCoy told himself. Well, maybe a little. A small hope that Jim might stick around, in the city at least. Maybe they could get to know each other under more normal circumstances. Wake up together warm in a real bed.

 _That’s what you get for hoping_. Fucking stupid sometimes, thinking it meant something to Jim just because he’d felt something.

He was stupid for thinking it meant anything. Too hard up. Been too long since he felt that way, that sort of connection. Maybe it was just the circumstances. Couldn’t have been real, that look in Jim's eye. Or damn, maybe Jim looked at everyone like that. Not like there was anything special about him.

Hell, most likely Jim was just glad to be rid of him. Couldn’t leave fast enough.

If they’d met now, just two guys sitting down next to each other in class, or at a bar, or in a shuttle together - really, what would they have in common? What would draw them together? Nothing. It was only fate that brought them together in the bar that night, and that was all done and gone.

 _Fate_ , he snorted as he got off the shuttle and headed toward the Admissions office, feeling more like the old McCoy that Jim had met in Riverside than Bones, the one Jim had left alone that morning. _Fate. What a load of shit._

 

 

That day was the busiest McCoy could remember having in years. He arrived at the Administration building Pike had directed him toward, but being almost a week late due to 'family emergency' didn’t mean jackshit to Starfleet officials who didn’t care much for his excuse. Meeting with the Admissions folks was smoother thanks to the good word from Pike, but it didn’t help with the dressing-down he got from the head of the Medical department who set him to graveyard shifts for the next week.

Full time, forty hours, in addition to the crushing first year load of bullshit classes - honestly, who the fuck _cared_ about cultural distinctions between the Cardassians and Klingons – all he cared about was their goddamn Anatomy and Physiology.

The end of his first day in San Francisco was at 0700 the next morning, after a grueling shift of working on cadets who'd been injured in a car accident and an outbreak of Portuguese influenza in one of the dorms. By the time he left the infirmary the sun was coming up and McCoy had been up for twenty-four hours, and was more tired than he'd ever been in his entire life. He set the alarm to wake himself up in four hours so he wouldn't miss class, then passed out on a twin bed in his empty dorm room, too tired to even hit the flask next to his bed. _Welcome to Starfleet, you asshole._

 

 

By the third day he’d fallen into a routine, as much as one could working nights. Class in the morning and afternoon, quick dinner and a few hours of sleep, then work his ass off all night only to start it all over again the next day. But each morning as he left the infirmary, seeing the dawn breaking over the bay, McCoy looked out over the water and thought about Jim.

At least his dorm room was quiet. No roommate, at least not yet, but probably one before the end of the semester, the consolidation happening when the first of the cadets began washing out. Granted that he wasn’t one of them, McCoy thought grimly, standing under a stream of hot water, trying not to think about Jim.

But he did, he always did. Eyes. Hands. Mouth. Sucking his cock, looking up at him with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. Taking him in deep, sucking him slow. McCoy pulled his cock, squeezing it hard and breathing with each stroke, faster and faster until he spilled into his hand, gasping and groaning Jim's name, not even ashamed anymore.

 

 

One evening McCoy sat down to a copy of the notes from his class, but his thoughts were somewhere else. He tried to imagine where Jim was, if he’d had a place to sleep and a hot meal. It wasn’t a life for everyone, but it seemed to be what Jim wanted. Pushing his notes aside, he pulled up his computer terminal. Out of curiosity, he opened up the network interface and began digging up what he could on Jim Kirk, but could only find information about the great George Kirk, martyr of the Kelvin. But there were links to his children; it seemed he had a son that would be Jim's age…

Was that him? A photo pulled up from somewhere showed a class of schoolchildren, a little blond head among a crowd, those eyes recognizable even then.

All of a sudden in clicked in his head. From Riverside. The running, the leaving home, not wanting to stay there, some sense of loss that you can’t explain and can’t satisfy, no matter how hard you try. It didn't explain everything, but it explained a lot. _Fuck, Jim. Why didn't you tell me?_

It was why McCoy drank. Might be why Jim ran. _Shit._

 

 

Soon enough things began to settle down. McCoy's supervisor moved him to an evening shift, and his life felt almost normal. Almost. After a particularly rough night, McCoy grabbed a couple beers with some of the other medics then headed back to his room. It wasn't awful, his attempt at being sociable, and at least the doctors and nurses weren't as young as most of the cadets, but - well, it wasn't the same. Not that McCoy was comparing it to anything. But he had been alone before he met Jim and survived. He sure as hell could manage without hi-

McCoy noticed the changes as soon as he opened the door. Shit. First thing he saw was the stack of books on the empty desk, even before he noticed the lump asleep under the covers. Pair of boots on the floor. Empty food container in the trash. Well, he'd known it was coming, that eventually someone would get assigned as his roommate, but damn. Didn't mean he had to be pleased about it.

Taking a deep breath, McCoy padded over to his bed and tried to drop his bag as quiet as possible. No sense getting off on the wrong foot, and hopefully it wasn't some asshole kid he'd have to-

McCoy had just gotten his boots off when he saw it, the familiar beat-up leather jacket hanging from the chair, and he froze. He picked it up, even before he dared glance over at the sleeping form, his heart beating too fast in his chest. Lifting it up to his face, he smelled it and that immediate sense of **Jim** surrounded him. McCoy walked over to the sleeping man, the familiar blond hair peeking out now, an arm casually slung around his pillow. What was he doing here? How had he found him? How had he gotten in? Why? "Jim," he called out softly. A million thoughts raced through his head, some happy, some angry, but all confused and unsettled and focused on the man asleep in front of him. "Jim, wake up."

There was a sleepy sound that came from the bed, vague and unsure, before Jim lifted his head up out of the pillow. He blinked at the light in the room, eyes squeezing shut, before some sense of what was going on came to Jim and his eyes snapped back open. Those blue eyes went as wide as possible their eyes met. "...'ones?" Rasped out through a sleep-tightened throat, all confusion and shock. "...'ow'd you get in m'room?" A hand tugged free of the covers and scrubbed across his eyes, then Jim looked back at McCoy again as if the sight of him would have vanished. "...The _fuck_?"

McCoy never thought he'd feel so happy to hear that name again. "Whatdaya mean, your room? This is my dorm room." He sat down on the bed, still in a state of shock. "What are you even doing here?"

Jim sat up, sheets falling down to pool around his skinny hips and showing he wasn't wearing a shirt. "Got assigned this room," every statement was getting clearer, "had no idea it was yours... too late to be in the normal dorms so they stuck me out here in no-where-ville medical dorms." His eyes dropped down, clearly trying to figure out how it was even possible this could have happened.

"Well fuck." Only response McCoy could come up with, only thought in his mind - how? What did this mean? "What do you mean, assigned here? Are you..." It was like someone turned on a light in his head. "Jim, did you enlist?"

"Yea." Jim looked back up, "...Did early this morning. They've been running my ass ragged since."

McCoy sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, looking slightly dazed. "I thought you didn't want this?" he asked, tilting his head up at Jim. "You didn't want Starfleet." It went without saying that he knew Jim didn't want **him**.

"...Didn't. Still don't know if I want this." McCoy wondered if those words answered the spoken or the unspoken question. Jim's eyes slid away from his. "But here I am, hoping I didn't make a huge mistake," his lips quirked.

McCoy was confused... but this wasn't anything new. "I thought- fuck, I don't know what I thought." He was at a loss for words. Except- "Good to see you again." McCoy gave him a little smile back, despite the hurt inside him, then stood and headed back over to his bed.

Jim actually laughed. "That makes two of us." He leaned back on his bed, arms crossing behind his head. He shifted, scratched his bare chest, then returned to pillowing his head. "The old man dared me to." Spoken in a completely different tone, changing subjects.

"Dared you?" McCoy paused as he sat down on his bed, pulling off his shirt. He wasn't even sure he should bring this up. "...On account of your dad?"

Jim visibly froze in place for a second, eyes tilting just enough to glance at McCoy before snorting, "Guess so." His fingers tightened minutely, visibly straining strands of hair.

"Well that's sort of shitty of him," McCoy replied back slow. "I mean no disrespect to your dad, Jim," he added carefully. He'd been a little boy when the _Kelvin_ went down; everyone knew the story of George Kirk. "But he should go after you on your own considerable merit." McCoy pulled off his pants and lay down under his covers, trying not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. Like an elephant in the room, they seemed to be avoiding talking about what happened between them. "Lights off." The room darkened around them.

"Pretty sure Pike and my dad were friends. Mentioned something about looking up my records too. Dunno what the old man sees... me or my father."

A little snort escaped McCoy. "They don't take charity cases in Starfleet, Jim, and you know it." Leaning up on one side, he began numbering items off on his fingers. "You're smart as shit, determined, hell of a good fighter, ... shit, I'll probably be saluting you one of these days." He lay down on his back, staring up in the dark at the ceiling. This wasn't bad... not terrible. What if this was all there was between them, just friendship. Maybe an occasional fuck. Wasn't terrible. Hell, was more than he had an hour ago.

Hell of a lot better than McCoy had before he met Jim.

"I don't know what Starfleet does. Sure, I got the spiel as a kid, saw it on the news a couple of times, but hell if I know how it works. Pike seemed determined, wanted to control..." McCoy could hear Jim's sigh. "Besides..." The silence took McCoy by surprised, and he was almost ready to break it when Jim said quietly, a smirk in his voice, "you're here."

McCoy was glad for the dark, so Jim couldn't see the little grin that fell on his face. "Yeah," he answered quiet. "And you're stuck here with me, least 'til you decide you want another roommate." They could talk more tomorrow, he knew that. Most important thing was that his friend was here, safe, fed, healthy. The rest? They could see about the rest of it later. "Breakfast tomorrow, okay? You can tell me all about your classes." He let out a quiet sigh. "G'night Jim."

"Yea." Nothing more, nothing less. Quiet in the room. "Night, Bones."

It became silent, except for the softest constant hum of electronics and the breathing of the two men trying to find sleep.

McCoy didn't know how much time passed, only that despite the long day, sleep wasn't coming easy. It had been a long time since he'd shared a room with someone besides Jim, and those circumstances had been different. He had been different. Still, it shouldn't be this hard. Nothing changed, really.

Suddenly, McCoy heard the rustling of bedsheets, pulling him out of his thoughts. His ears strained in the darkness, hearing the quiet sound of something touching the floor. Footsteps. The quiet in the night was ripped apart as there was a squealing sound, metal dragged against the floor. The noise hurt his ears, and he started when he felt the bed jerk as something hit the side of it. His hand reached out and where there should have been space, instead he found another bed. Jim's mattress butted against his own. "Jim?"

Jim said nothing at all as he climbed back into the bed, and his body slid up along side of McCoy. He could feel as Jim's arm stole around his chest and his back was pulled up Jim's strong chest. Jim's head laid against his own and his hand found Jim's, sliding together with a practiced ease. Shouldn't have felt this good, this right... but it did.

McCoy turned his head slightly, just enough to brush their lips together. Jim's mouth moved against his until Jim was tugging at his lower lip. The kiss stayed tender, the faint scratch of a day's worth of scruff, the squeeze of Jim's hand against his own. There didn't need to be anything else said between them - at least not for now. They let their mouths and the lacing of their fingers speak what needed to be said. Bones and Jim curled together in their combined beds, uncertainties and an unknown future pushed aside for the far more simple present. Then, suddenly, life changed.


End file.
